What is and What Should Never Be
by TheDreamyOne
Summary: Completed - Chapter 11 uploaded Donovan learns some rules must be broken while undercover, but some prices are much too high to pay.
1. Tribulations

Title:                What is and What Should Never Be 

Author:           Dreamy          

Rating:           R [mild violence and sexual situation]

Summary:     Donovan learns some rules must be broken while undercover, but some prices are much too high to pay.

Disclaimer:    UC:Undercover and its characters belong to Shane Salerno and NBC.  All original characters belong to the author.  Do not use without written permission.

Chapter One -- Tribulations 

"Next," he heard a female voice call from the hallway.  He looked around the crowded waiting room and realized he was "Next".  He had been waiting the longest.  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before he finally stood.  During that length of time, the woman had moved to the sign in sheet.  "Ettore Sansone," she called.

"That would be me," he replied arrogantly, handing her the "COC" form he had been supplied.  

The woman looked up at the decidedly Italian accent that floated into her ear and shivered just the slightest.  If given the opportunity, this man standing in front of her would be one she would gladly worship in any way he demanded.  Sexy did little to sum him up.  She shook her head and waved a hand toward the end of the hall.  "Follow me."

"Of course," he stated flatly.  

Sighing his irritation, he followed her and silently reflected on why he was even at such a place.  He had to be insane.  All this to obtain a job at an exclusive Lamborghini dealership that had opened just outside of Savannah, Georgia, less than a year ago.  According to those who worked there, sales were not plentiful and few salespeople were needed.  The commission from one sale could support someone for a month or two, perhaps longer.  The repairs were where a lot of the money for the dealership was generated from, but he was no mechanic.  Selling was his forte; he could sell a drowning man a glass of water.  

However, there were guidelines he had to meet.  Swarthy, good looking, and perhaps, unattainable, was how the Owner and General Manager described his sales staff.  His salesmen were men that every woman wanted and every man wanted to be.  They came from different ethnic backgrounds, but most possessed each of the qualities that Nelson Creswell Motors thought the public wanted to see. 

To meet these guidelines, he had grown out his black hair until it flowed past his shoulders.  He had also allowed his beard to fill in and trimmed it neatly along his jaw line until it meshed perfectly with his goatee and mustache.  He made his already obvious accent more distinguished and he played that to the hilt.  He found it amusing how his dark looks and a foreign accent could make most American women melt before they even had a glimpse of his personality.  Just like the woman who was filling out his Chain of Custody paperwork while he waited most impatiently.  If she were anything near his type, he would most likely have her begging for him before the night was over.  He sighed.  His looks had their perks, but they also made him feel uncomfortable at times.  He did not like being so … _noticeable._

"Take this," the woman said as she shoved a plastic cup into his hand.  "In there.  Don't run the water; don't flush."  

He grimaced as he listened to her monotone voice spout orders as he walked into the small doorless bathroom.  He shrugged and did what was necessary.  As he had been so coldly informed by the dealership's office manager, if he wished to complete the hiring process, he had to pass the 'whiz quiz'.  Again he grimaced as he remembered the chill in her voice.  Nelson Creswell operated a 'drug free' workplace, and it was his last step before being accepted as an employee.  

His task complete, he snapped the lid in place and returned to the technician to complete his paperwork.

"Good luck, Mr. Sansone," she offered, handing him a copy of the COC form after he had washed up. "Your employer will be in touch as soon as they receive the results; most likely, within three days."

"Thank you," he replied and left hurriedly to slide into his Arena Red 1996 Porsche 993.  He sank into the cashmere leather seat and rested his head back against it.  Grumbling under his breath, he picked up his ear microphone and hooked it in place.

"Everything come out all right?" 

"Funny, Cody.  Very funny," he growled.  "So funny, I may have to thank you personally for the chuckle."

"Eep.  Sorry.  Whatcha so touchy for?  It's not like you've never had to do that before."

"I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind," he barked as he turned the key in the ignition.  Cody was right.  Drug testing was a normal part of the job, but he preferred the government's method – a little snip of hair and it was over.  This was… degrading.  "We're in a waiting pattern again."

"So, your plans are?"

"A little night recon," he supplied briefly.  

"See you back at the hotel?"

"No.  I'll head back to Ettore's apartment.  I'll check in with you in the morning."

"Okay, Donovan.  Happy hunting."

"Again, Cody.  Very funny."

Making his way through the lazy Savannah streets, he reached his apartment in short order.  He quickly changed from his Armani suit to a pair of faded blue jeans and a pullover midnight blue sweater.  It was springtime and the days were warm, but the nights could get a bit on the chilly side.  He slipped into his tennis shoes and hurried from the apartment to the bus stop at the end of the street.  

After a short ride, he exited the bus ten blocks from his apartment and entered a small diner.  He ordered a BLT sandwich and a cup of coffee.  Leafing through the paper, he waited.  His watch indicated that he would not be waiting long.  He would have just enough time to eat his sandwich and head off again.

Twenty minutes later, he heard the telltale sound of the bus engine and two minutes later, the jingling of the diner bell as the door was opened.  He raised the newspaper up enough to cover his features, but was still able to see around it.

"Good evening, dear," the tall, elderly blue haired waitress called out.

"Hello, Jeanie.  How are you?" came the reply as she sidled up to the counter and absently adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses on her face.

He frowned a little at the sight of her.  Plain Jane was a good description for her.  Her ash blonde hair was always pulled up into a twist.  She had no makeup on her oval-shaped face, and her tinted glasses, perched on her slim nose, hid her eyes from clear view.  She appeared to have an okay figure, but kept it well hidden beneath straight-line dresses that left _everything_ to the imagination.  He had to admit her full lips carried a lovely pout, but that was the only positive he could find.

"Fine as the hair on a frog's butt."

She laughed softly and shook her head.  "You are a treasure, Jeanie."

"Tell that to Herman," Jeanie said, chuckling.  "Here ya go, darlin'," she said, handing her a to-go order of the day's special and a large drink.

"Thanks so much.  See y'all tomorrow!"

He folded the newspaper and went to the counter to pay his bill.  He gave her a good head start, giving him a chance to keep out of her sight.  It was a ritual he had been following for nearly a month.  Until he was able to get inside the actual daily activities of the dealership, he kept himself occupied with surveillance.  Sure, he had a file on the docile, seemingly unfriendly, office manager, but he needed more than words on paper.  She had to have the dirt on Creswell, and he wanted whatever information she had.   

Taylor Anne Kinney was his ticket to Creswell.  He slipped off the sidewalk to wander among the old grave markers in the nearby cemetery.  He stayed close enough to keep his eyes on her, but stayed well out of her line of sight.  He watched with interest as she kept to her daily schedule.  

She sat on the park bench outside of the cemetery and placed the plastic bag and drink Jeanie had given her at the diner beside her.  Turning slightly, she faced the other occupant of the bench.  He was there every day without fail.  He wore ratty trousers and a flannel shirt that had seen better days.  His shoes appeared to be new, probably given to him by Goodwill.  Donovan had made the observation that the man appeared to take in all the activity around him, but rarely moved a muscle.  It was as though he was rooted to the same spot for hours upon hours.  

"Hello, Bubo," Taylor greeted in her southern drawl and stretched her arms out in front of her before relaxing back against the bench.  "How was your day?"

The now familiar sound of clicks and whistles began.  It took Donovan a few evenings to ascertain that it was the man's way of communicating.  He had taken the time to ask around and found that "Bubo" was a name given to him by Miss Kinney.   Apparently, his form of communication had reminded her of the owl that Hephaestus had handcrafted for Perseus in the movie "The Clash of the Titans" and the name stuck with all the local residents.  

"You had a good day then?  I'm glad to hear that," Taylor responded as she rifled through her purse.  

Another burst of short whistles and clicks sounded, followed by a raspy cough.

"Oh, I'm fine.  Thank you for asking," she said, smiling up into his tired gray eyes.  "But, you know, I did the dumbest thing.  I went by the pharmacy today and I picked up regular aspirin for a headache…and you know I can't take aspirin."  She shook her head and set the bottle down on the bench.  "I don't know what I was thinking."

More clicks, more whistles, and a soft pat on her hand.  

She looked up as a smile appeared on his heavily bearded face and watched as he absently ran a hand through his curly brown hair.  "You're right.  I was distracted today.  Just before lunch, Nelson brought in a potential new salesman."  She chuckled as Bubo let out a long whistle.  "You know Nelson so well, Bubo.  Yes, the new recruit is right in line to work with the rest of the saleswhores that are there."

Bubo shook his head and smiled.  His smiled quickly disappeared when he began coughing again.

"I know, Bubo.  I'm too hard on them and they're only doing what's expected of them.  It just chaps my hide the way they turn on the charm and think things will fall into their laps."  She sighed as she stood.  "You have a good evening, Bubo.  I'll see you tomorrow."  She touched his cheek softly and then went on her way.  She heard a click or two, wishing her a good night.

Donovan remained behind, watching as Bubo moved for what was probably the first time in hours.  He slid to the other side of the bench, picking up the bottle of aspirin as he did.  He grabbed the large cup, took a sip from the straw, and smiled.  Donovan assumed it was the staple of the southern drinks.  Sweet tea.  Bubo opened the aspirin, dumped a couple into his hand and popped them into his mouth, following them with another swallow from the cup.  He then opened the plastic bag, pulled out the container, and dug into the meal that Taylor had left behind.  

Donovan moved quietly through the cemetery and exited when he was a good distance away from Bubo.  He was not sure why he did not want Bubo to know he was shadowing Taylor most evenings.  How could he possibly convey to the woman through noises that she was being followed?  He knew it was absurd to give it any credence, and, yet, there was something telling him that Bubo could, indeed, converse with Taylor on some level.  He was very curious about the relationship between Taylor and Bubo, but on a personal level.  Business came first and he needed to find a connection with Taylor.  As it stood, he knew her feelings about the salesmen at the dealership.  She would be a tough nut to crack.

He caught up to her easily enough and slipped into the shadows once again.  He could predict the remainder of her evening as he watched her enter her townhouse.  First she would disappear into what he assumed was her bedroom and change.  Then she would make dinner and watch the evening news.  She might read or watch television for a couple hours and then off to bed.  It seemed a rather lonely existence, but one she was comfortable with.

He decided to call it an early evening.  It was Friday, it had been a long week, he had a meeting with the team in the morning, and Taylor was in for the night.  There was nothing more to learn by skulking about like a common Peeping Tom.

…to be continued…


	2. Dance Fever

**Chapter Two – Dance Fever**

"Mr. Nelson," Taylor called after pressing the intercom to his office.

"Yes, Taylor?"

"The results are back from the lab on Ettore Sansone."  She grimaced slightly as she said the name.  It wasn't that she had anything against the man, except that he was a salesman, or his name; it was that she enjoyed the sound of it so much that bothered her.  It echoed in her mind over and over.  _Eh-tor-ray San-so-nay_.  She couldn't get the name out of her head and it was starting to tick her off.  "He's good to go, whenever you want to bring him aboard."

"That's good news.  I'm about to head into the morning manager's meeting.  Would you give him a call and ask him if he can start in the morning?"

Taylor sighed to herself and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.  "Of course," she agreed reluctantly before switching off the intercom.  She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair.  As she was pulling his file from the drawer to get his phone number she heard the giggles from the outer office.  "Yes, ladies?"

Jenny Warner and Estelle Tracey ducked into her office.  Now the dealership's accounting staff was all huddled in one office.  A small staff was all that was warranted for the amount of sales generated.  

"What's so funny," Taylor asked in mock sternness.

"Way-yull," Jenny drawled.  "Estelle an' I were just sayin' that if you don't wanna cawl Mister Sansone…we'd sure love to."

"Ya'll get out of my office, now!" Taylor barked good-naturedly.  "You two are in perpetual heat around these salesmen.  I swear, one of these days."

"Sawry, Taylor," they apologized in unison.

She shook her head as she dialed the phone number.  After five rings she expected an answering machine to pick up.

~*~

"Hey, boss.  Ettore's getting a call!"

Donovan slowly walked into the room.  After tucking his hair behind his ear, he reached for the phone and signaled Cody to connect the call.  "_Pronto,_" he greeted cordially.

"Mr. Sansone?" 

"_Sì_," Donovan answered with a frown.  He had been waiting for this call, but he had not been expecting the cool voice of Taylor Kinney.  

"Yes, well…Mr. Sansone, this is Taylor Kinney from Nelson Creswell Motors.  I've been asked to call and inform you that, if you are still interested, you may start working tomorrow morning."

"_Sì__,_ of course I am interested.  What time do I start?"  Her heavy sigh reached his ear easily and he wondered what exactly had her so irritated.  This simple phone call did not seem to be enough to cause that, but then he remembered that she did not like dealing with salespeople in the least.

"There's a sales meeting at nine o'clock each morning.  I would appreciate it if you would come in a few minutes early and fill out payroll forms," she replied flatly as if she didn't care one way or the other if he ever showed up.

"Of course.  Until tomorrow," he answered smoothly and ended the call.

Alex scrunched up her face as she entered through the connecting doors to their hotel rooms.  "She really has no desire to see you," she commented as she flopped down onto the bed.

Donovan shrugged and grimaced as he ran a hand through his long hair.  He was looking forward to the end of the assignment if only to cut his hair again.  He hadn't worn his hair that long in more years than he could remember.  "She has no use for salesmen, that much is apparent."

"And you think getting close to her is the key to this case?" Jake asked.

Donovan reached for his Styrofoam cup and sipped at the now tepid coffee.  "Until we discover how Creswell is transporting the cocaine, she's our only link to proving he's running the money through the company.  As office manager, she would have full access to the books."

"Maybe so, but she won't trust you enough to share that information with you," Monica interjected.

"Not now, but eventually," he assured her.  It would not be his finest hour, seducing the ice maiden, but he was confident he could win her over.

~*~

For nearly two weeks Donovan had played the part of the suave new salesperson at Nelson Creswell Motors.  Because sales were so few, only three salespeople were kept on staff at a time, and he shared the privilege with Shane Matthews and Phillipe Ambrose.  Shane had the all-American blonde hair, blue-eyed look sewn up.  Phillipe was a Frenchman, through and through.  

There were times when they all had a little too much time on their hands, and Donovan spent his idle time learning the layout of the buildings.  He had gone over the blue prints and specs, but knowing the terrain on a visual basis was important.  He made mental notes of where possible holding areas for the drugs might be, and speculated on how the drugs were brought in and distributed.  

He hadn't been there long enough to strike up any deep and meaningful friendships; however, the two ladies in the office were most forthcoming with any gossip available.  At this point he could tell anyone who might as just who was sleeping with whom, what office politics were favoring which employee, and that his objective, Taylor Kinney, was as unfriendly as he had thought she would be.  Any attempt he had made to engage her in conversation was met with an immediate glare and an abrupt dismissal.  He was at his wit's end when he made an unexpected discovery.  

Shane had witnessed one of his failed attempts to talk to Taylor and commented that he might have better luck bumping into her at Confetti's.  At the blank look he must have given Shane, he explained that Confetti's was a hyper-popular dance club that Taylor frequented Friday and Saturday nights.  That news had completely floored him.  He had observed her turning in early each of those nights for the past month, but according to Shane, he had seen her there many times.  He happily shared that he had not recognized her at first, and they did not acknowledge each other's presence, but he was one hundred percent sure that it was her.

Donovan checked his watch as he slid behind the Porsche's wheel.  He had been working a deal, but when it looked as though it was going to take forever to close, he tossed it to Phillipe, who was only too glad to split the commission with him.  Donovan could care less, but pretended it was a hardship he would have to endure.  He was just glad to get out of sales mode.  He decided to forgo following Taylor and go back to his apartment.  It had been some time since he had visited a dance club and he had a feeling he'd need his rest.  

~*~

"What do you mean, no video feed?" Cody asked disbelievingly. 

"I mean…no video feed. Audio will do," Donovan insisted.

"You're going into a loud, crowded nightclub…audio feed will be useless," Cody argued.

"You win.  No audio either," Donovan stated as he opened the hotel door.  

"Whoo…hot stuff," Monica commented heartily as she stepped through the doorway.  

Donovan quirked a brow and offered her a hard glare before moving past her.  "I'll check in with you in the morning."

Monica sighed as she flopped into the chair.  "Another night staring at these four walls.  Such a glamorous life."

"Tell me about it," Alex agreed.  "At least Jake is seeing some action."

"Oh yeah.  Hooking up with the transport company that delivers the vehicles to the dealership," Cody joined in.  "Verrrry exciting."

"Exciting would be going to that dance club tonight with Mr. Oozes Sex Appeal," Alex whined.

"Damn…it would be, wouldn't it?  I'd just like to watch…"  

Cody held up his hand as Monica went to check the monitors.  "Don't bother.  Donovan ordered no feed."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"I'm serious.  I think he's afraid we'll find out what a lousy dancer he is," Cody speculated.

Alex laughed.  "He's not going to dance.  He's too stiff."

"He might be, but Ettore _isn't_."  Monica grinned remembering the sight of longhaired Frank Donovan decked out in tight black jeans and a dark blue silk button down shirt.  "The women in that club will fight each other for a chance to get near him."

"Let's just hope the one he's after will give him the time of day," Alex said as she picked up a magazine.  "Because I'm more than ready to get on with this case."

"Patience, Alex."

"Shut up, Monica."

~*~

He arrived at the crowded dance club around ten o'clock that evening.  Parking was a nightmare, but he finally found a place for his Porsche.  So far, that car was the only thing he was going to miss about his current mission.  He really wasn't thrilled about going undercover to begin with, but, as it happened, he had agreed with his superiors.  Jake didn't fit Creswell's slick and sophisticated profile for his more visible employees; the man had never hired a woman salesperson, so that left either Cody or himself.  It was not a difficult choice.  

He glanced around the interior as he searched for Taylor, but he saw no trace of her.  He smiled charmingly at the women who were obviously impressed with what they saw of him.  If he weren't there on business he might find some enjoyment in their attention, but at this point, he just found it annoying.  

He ordered bourbon straight up and settled himself down on a stool at the darkened end of the bar.  The club contained two levels.  The upper lever was open in the center so that the activity could be viewed easily from either level.  There was one long bar located near the upper entrance; the three other sides were for mingling or dancing, whichever the patrons desired.  The lower level contained a large dance floor with large dark blue glass panels.  Lighted streaks of white ran throughout the floor, flashing to the beat of the music.  Two large, curved bars were located at either end of the dance floor, and tables sat off at the other two sides.  Strobing lights and confetti hung in streamers from the ceiling and walls, completing the effect.

He nursed his bourbon for nearly an hour while he scoured the interior waiting for Taylor to show.  He was beginning to think Shane had been snorting the cocaine that the authorities believed was being smuggled through Creswell Motors.  During the past hour, his attention had repeatedly been drawn to the other end of the bar.  He had watched the comings and goings of the four people who sat there and had determined they were 'regulars' and that section of the bar was reserved for them.  No one even dared to take their seats when they deserted the bar for the dance floor.  Apparently, it was a given that it was their territory and if anyone ventured into it, the bartender simply moved them along quickly.  

Three women and one man occupied the 'territory'.  He watched in amusement as one of the women picked up the bottle of tequila that had been placed in front of them the moment they arrived.  That was, apparently, another given; shot glasses lined the bar in front of them, as well as several saltshakers, and a large bowl of sliced limes.  He watched as the woman laughed and poured out four shots.  When she lifted her head from her task, he found her vaguely familiar, but could not quite place her.  She licked her lips slightly as she picked up one of the saltshakers and, as if in salute, she raised the shaker in front of her and waited until the other three caught up with her.  In unison, they licked a small area on their hands between their wrist and thumb before pouring salt on it.  Together, they licked the salt from their hands, tossed back their shot of tequila, and followed it by sucking a piece of lime.  He licked his bottom lip as he watched the woman's mouth return to a most delicious looking pout.  Suddenly, he had never been so jealous of a piece of fruit before.  It was then that the man next to her pulled her to her feet.  Her ash blonde hair fluttered about her face as she headed off to the dance floor.  

He shook his head and silently admonished himself.  He needed to stay focused and watching some pretty piece of fluff was not going to help him accomplish what he was there for.  Still, he couldn't stop his eyes from following her out onto the dance floor.  Her sleeveless orange-red dress molded to her body from her chest down to mid-thigh.  The neckline dipped just enough to show a slight hint of the top swell of her breasts.  Unlike some of the women who littered the club, whose 'attributes' were barely covered, this woman showed some class.  He nearly slid off his chair in complete surprise when she lifted her hair atop her head momentarily as she danced.  How could he have been so blind?  

Taylor Kinney.  She had captivated him for the last hour.  Without those dark thick-rimmed glasses of hers, and her hair loose around her shoulders, it was as if she had become a completely different person.  He couldn't quite make out the color of her eyes, he was not nearly close enough to her, but he enjoyed the way they crinkled up when she laughed.  It was one of the things he had noticed first when she sat down with her friends.  Her laughter was genuine and it reached her eyes.  It wasn't makeup that had transformed her, he noted easily.  She was not heavily made up; as far as he could tell, she wore lipstick, a touch of blush, and a little mascara.  He was completely amazed at the difference in her whole demeanor.  She seemed friendly and approachable; she had not turned down one dance partner yet.  In his estimation, he stood a better chance than most.

A seat opened at the bar closer to the 'territory' of the regulars.  He moved quickly to it and waited for her to return.  He would make his move then.  Laughter preceded her as she unceremoniously hopped up onto the barstool.  He leaned forward to get the bartender's attention and ordered another bourbon.  Before pulling back, he glanced to his right, catching Taylor's eye.  He smiled warmly and offered a slight wave in greeting.  

Taylor rolled her eyes when she spied the newest sleaze that graced her every day life.  She growled to herself and wondered why he couldn't show the same good judgment as Shane had and not acknowledge her at all.  This place was her haven from that scourge of an existence she had to bear.  _Oh, good God!  He's coming over here.  Sonofabitch!_  

"_Come va_, Taylor," ["How are you, Taylor?"] he asked, touching her shoulder softly.  She visibly recoiled, causing him to move back slightly.  _You're too anxious, Donovan.  Ease up._  

Taylor frowned as she looked up at him.  She felt the various prods in her sides from her two girl friends.  "What does that mean, Mister Sansone?" she asked.  "I don't speak Italian."

_"Perdonilo_," he replied in Italian before correcting himself.  "Forgive me.  I asked how you are, Taylor," he responded warmly.  

She sighed irritably.  "I'm perfectly fine, and you?"  She wondered if he could tell that she could care less how he was.  What she did care about was when he would leave.  

"I am fine, _grazie_." [Thank you.]  

"Hey, Taylor!  Ya gonna introduce your friend, or leave us poor deprived souls hangin'?"

Taylor grimaced as she turned toward Melanie.  She prepared herself to have his name repeating in her mind for the rest of the evening.  She was doomed.  "Ettore Sansone, this is Melanie Hargrove and Tammy-Lynn Donaldson."  

Playing his role to the hilt, he gently lifted each of the brunette's hands to his lips and softly kissed their knuckles.  "_Piacere__ di conoscerla._"  [Pleased to meet you.]  His smile widened when they fairly melted off their seats.  For all they knew he had just told them to go to hell, but the accent appealed to them, so they went with it.  

Tammy-Lynn leaned close to Taylor and whispered in her ear.  "He's to die for, Taylor.  Where have you kept him hidden?"

Taylor shrugged her off and shook her head, pushing the irritating thought away.  "And that," she added, pointing over Ettore's shoulder.  "Is Devon Markinson."

"Hey there," Devon greeted, lifting his shot glass.  "Another round, Taylor?"

She looked over at Ettore briefly.  _Ettore__ Sansone.  Ettore Sansone._  She wanted to scream; she could not shake that name from her mind.  "Definitely," she nearly barked.  

"Would you care for one," Melanie asked Ettore in her deep southern drawl. 

He smiled and held up his glass.  "_Grazie_, no."  He watched in amusement when Taylor didn't wait for her friends.  Instead she swallowed the tequila quickly, foregoing the salt and lime.  He set his glass down in front of her and held out his hand.  "Dance, Taylor?"

Taylor stared at his hand for a moment before looking up into his face.  He was kidding, right?  She opened her mouth to tell him to get the hell out of her club.   If she wanted an intrusion from someone she worked with, she would march her ass back to the dealership right now.   The words never came.  She found herself mesmerized by the deep brown of his eyes.  She had never seen eyes so dark before.  He really was 'to die for' as Tammy-Lynn had described him.  She had the uncontrollable urge to reach up and trace along his jaw, following the smooth line of his beard.  It was the booze, she decided.  She must have passed her limit.  

"Ya snooze, ya lose," Tammy-Lynn called out, grabbing Ettore's hand and leading him onto the dance floor.  

Frank groaned inwardly.  It was bad enough he had to humiliate himself, but for the entirely wrong person.  Actually, it didn't take him long to get into the rhythm of the music and the suggestive movements came quite naturally.  Add to it that Tammy-Lynn practically had herself wrapped around him, and he found it fairly enjoyable.  She was a very attractive girl, and what red-blooded male wouldn't enjoy her attention?

Devon and Melanie watched in amusement as Taylor seethed in silence.  They were both well aware of Taylor's feelings regarding those she worked with, and yet it was apparent that she was a little more than upset that Tammy-Lynn had snatched up the man she so clearly did not want to have anything to do with.  

As the music changed and another song began thumping throughout the club, Taylor downed another shot of tequila.  Devon laughed good-naturedly as he reached out and took her and Melanie by the hand.  "Come on, ladies.  Let's show 'em how it's done."

Melanie laughed along with Devon, but Taylor was not amused.  She kept her eyes on Tammy-Lynn and the more-than-sexy Ettore.  _Ettore__ Sansone.  Ettore Sansone.  Ettore Sansone._  "GAWD!" she bellowed in irritation as her hand closed around Devon's while they moved through the crowd.  

Devon was having a wild time, bumping and grinding with both Taylor and Melanie.  He wasn't stupid; he could see the way Taylor's eyes followed Sansone and their friend Tammy-Lynn.  He also hated seeing her like that.  It was highly unusual when she took an interest in anyone except to dance with them.  Tammy-Lynn would probably hate him for what he was about to do, but he knew she would get over it quickly.  He swung around, bringing himself closer to the couple.  Reaching out, he grasped Tammy-Lynn by the wrist, pulling her toward him.  At the same time, he twirled Taylor around with his other arm until she was facing Sansone.  He smiled wickedly when Taylor whipped her head around to glare at him.  "Enjoy," he mouthed as he turned his attention back to Melanie and a decidedly unhappy Tammy-Lynn.

"Hey, no fair!" Tammy-Lynn griped.  

"No fair was you snatching him out from under her.  Besides, I'm jealous," Devon pouted playfully.

"Oh…well, in that case," Tammy-Lynn teased, falling into his arms as the trio headed back to their 'territory'.  

Frank didn't miss a beat.  He twirled Taylor into his arms and smiled down at her.  

She released a defeated laugh.  She was trapped.  She could leave him standing on the dance floor, but she found herself pushing that idea aside.  She was also enjoying his dancing.  Unlike most men, he held her close as he moved in a Patrick- Swayze-Dirty-Dancing motion.  Oh, she could deal with his lean, muscular body pressed against hers for a few minutes.  It was nearly midnight; she would call it a night and go home early.  

He dipped her back slightly.  He brought his face close to hers, his cheek nearly touching hers and he whispered in her ear, " _diami__ una probabilità_." ["Give me a chance."]  He closed his eyes as the subtle aroma of her perfume floated into his nostrils.  His lips were so close to the soft flesh of her neck and it took all of his control to keep from tasting her.

Taylor pushed at his shoulders, forcing him to pull her upright.  She shuddered with an unexpected delight when his beard tickled her skin.  "What did you say?" she demanded.  The dance, the music, the entire room had been forgotten as she stared into his fathomless dark eyes.

He took her hand in his and squeezed it softly.  "Give me a chance, Taylor."

She frowned and pulled her hand from his.  "A chance for what, Ettore?"  She shook her head and turned from him as she began to pick her way through the crowded dance floor.

His fingers closed around her upper arm and he turned her gently to face him.  "Get to know me before you make the decision that I'm trash.  _Give me a chance,_" he repeated.

Taylor threw her hands up in exasperation.  What could he possible want from her?  In her eyes, she was less than appealing.  She had done her best to make sure she gave the attitude and appearance of someone that most men would not look twice at.  Here he was, Adonis in black jeans, paying attention to her as though she was the most desirable creature on earth.  It made little sense to her, and yet, he fascinated her.  It was his eyes, she decided.  His eyes held her captivated.  Was it his touch?  It was electric.  No, it was his lips.  She hated herself, but she wanted to taste their fullness just once.  It was many things, and each one made her thoughts crazier than the last.  

"Taylor?"

She shook her head as she approached him.  "It's midnight," she yelled over the excited calls of the crowd.

"And that means?"

Taylor laughed and lifted a hand as the confetti fell from the ceiling and covered the dancers.  She knew she would hate herself later for her actions, but she took one of the long streamers and slid it around his neck.  Pulling him toward her, she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his ear as she whispered, "You're getting your chance.  Don't make me regret giving it to you."

…to be continued…


	3. Better Judgment

**Chapter Three – Better Judgment**

Taylor had tried her best to leave just after dancing with Ettore, but her friends insisted it was too early.  They normally stayed until closing, which was why she took a two or three hour nap before she hit the club Friday and Saturday nights.  Instead of leaving, they had a couple more drinks and several more dances.  Ettore seemed to be enjoying himself, which bothered her all the more.  

Her friends had accepted him without question, especially Melanie and Tammy-Lynn.  That was not all that surprising, considering the majority of the women there had propositioned him at one time or another during the evening.  It had surprised her when he merely thanked them, but otherwise shrugged them off to stay with her.  She found it more than disturbing.  Not his behavior so much as her reaction to it.  She had to admit she felt way out of her league with Ettore.  _Ettore__ Sansone.  Ettore Sansone.  Ettore Sansone.  Damn it!_  Somehow, his refusal of the other women's advances had left her feeling…special.  She didn't like it.  It was a feeling she enjoyed and one that could wind up causing her more pain than she was willing to deal with when he turned out to be as unsubstantial as all of the other salesmen she had known.

"Okay, okay…I'm leaving now," she insisted as she slid off the barstool.  "Dave! Can you toss me my purse, please?"

The bartender nodded and handed the purse to her.  "See ya tomorrow, Taylor?"

"Of course, Dave!"

"Do you need a ride, Taylor?" Devon asked concernedly.  She had more to drink than she normally did and he wasn't sure she could make it home on her own.

"Nope," she replied cheerfully.  "Gonna walk home; I need the air."  She didn't wait for any long goodbyes or protests to her actions.  She was feeling rather happy and didn't feel like dealing with anything that would drag her down.  With a flamboyant wave, she made her way to the exit on somewhat unsteady legs.

Donovan watched her for a split second before issuing his own goodbye and following her out the door.  When he caught up to her, she had barely made it to the other side of the street.  He found her sitting on a park bench on the darkened sidewalk.  "Taylor?  Let me take you home."

Taylor looked up at the sound of his voice.  Tammy-Lynn's voice saying 'to die for' immediately popped into her mind when she took in his handsome features. "Don't say his name," she told herself out loud.

"What's wrong with my name?" he asked curiously as he sat down beside her.  

"It keeps repeating in my head.  You know?"  She laughed when he shook his head.  "Like one of those songs that gets trapped in your mind and repeats over and over.  Your name does that to me."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, chuckling.  She was very endearing when she was drinking; however, he was sure she would disagree with him. 

"Not your fault," she said, pushing herself to her feet.  "It's a nice name…too sexy.  Won't go away," she explained as she tapped the side of her head.  "I was going home," she commented absently.

Donovan couldn't help but laugh.  "You should know when to stop drinking," he commented as he put a steadying hand under her elbow.  "Let me take you home," he offered again.

"Yes, I said I was going home."  She took a step forward colliding into him.  "You're very tall."

"Thank you.  You're very drunk."

"Really?  Naw," she assured him.  "Am I taking you home?"

"I think you are," he answered and chuckled again.  "Come on."  Placing his arm around her waist, he helped her to his car.  "Where do you live?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well the location.  On the off chance she would remember any details that evening, he didn't want to slip up on something so fundamental.  

He started the car's engine after she mumbled her address.  He had barely pulled out of the parking lot before she shifted in her seat and slumped against him.  He shook his head as he draped an arm around her, holding her snugly in place.  She was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

It took less than ten minutes to drive her home.  While he helped her from the vehicle, he noticed the lone figure sitting on the bench not quite two blocks away.  He knew it was Bubo.  Most likely he set up vigil until she made it home each night.  It was a unique relationship the two shared.  He lifted Taylor into his arms and turned toward her house.  Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bubo stand and move off in the opposite direction.  Donovan had half expected the man to head his way and demand to know what he was doing with Taylor.  He shrugged and headed to the door.  

"Taylor, give me your keys."  His request was met with a mumble.  He set her on her feet and held her with one arm while he fumbled through her purse until he finally found her keys.  He unlocked the door and helped her inside.  He patted the wall beside the doorframe until he found the light switch.  After flicking it on, he took a brief look around the area downstairs that was visible from the foyer.  The living room was off to the left and the kitchen was at the end of the large hallway.  Directly in front of him was a small staircase, which he assumed would take him to her bedroom.  

He helped her upstairs and to her bed.  He laid her down gently and turned to leave when her hand wrapped around his.

"Ettore?"  She sat up slowly as she tugged him down to the mattress.  

"_Si_?"  He sat on the edge of the bed and waited as her eyes slowly focused on his face.  In the light he could finally see their color.  Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, and they were beautiful.

She reached for the top button on his shirt and slowly unfastened it.  "You're very handsome," she admitted, moving closer to him.  She lifted a hand to his cheek for a moment before lightly running her thumb over his lips.  "Kiss me."

He couldn't tear his eyes from hers as she touched his face and lips.  Nor could he stop himself from leaning toward her and doing as she requested.  Tentative at first, his lips caressed hers lightly, but when her fingers drifted into his hair, just as his plunged into hers, the kiss deepened and intensified.  Their tongues met again and again, seeking and exploring, until he thought he might go insane with wanting more.  He pulled away, his breathing heavy as he gazed down at her.

"Don't stop there," she whispered as she nuzzled his neck.  Her fingers once again found the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid them until she reached the waistband of his jeans.  "Oh God," she moaned, touching the smooth skin of his chest.  

He swallowed hard when she reached up and began sliding the strap to her dress over shoulder.  If he didn't stop her soon, he would not be able to stop himself.  As inch by inch of creamy white skin was exposed, his resolve grew weaker.   He could easily have her.  He could satisfy the need that had been building within him all evening, and she was in no position to refuse him.  As it stood, she was practically begging him to take her.  The ache in his loins told him to go for it, but his better judgment won out.  

"No," he growled softly as he reached out and stayed her hand.  "Taylor…"  
  


She gaped at him when he stood suddenly and moved away from the bed.  "No," she questioned, watching in disbelief as he buttoned his shirt.  What was his game?  Had he only been pretending to be attracted to her and now faced with actually following through with things, she repulsed him?  "You…bastard."

He quickly moved back to her side and sat down again.  He trapped her hands within his, afraid that if she touched him just once more, he would completely come unglued.  "Taylor, you're not yourself.  If we go through with this, you'd hate…"

"Myself in the morning?" she snapped.  Was he for real?  Did they teach these clichés to boys in school?  

He shook his head briefly.  "No.  More likely you would hate _me_ in the morning.  And I would deserve that hatred if I took advantage of you," he explained.  "When you can think with a clear head, we can discuss this further."

"I'm not that drunk, Ettore.  I know what I'm doing," she assured him.  "But it doesn't matter anymore.  You had your chance," she snarled, ripping her hands from his grasp.  "Get out."

He nodded and stood quickly.  "I hope things will be clearer in the morning."

"Get out," she repeated, sinking down onto the mattress.  

He backed out of the room, switching out the light before he closed the door.  He couldn't explain why, but he felt the need to stay.  It was nearly two o'clock in the morning and he was exhausted.  He had also been drinking and realistically should not have even driven Taylor home.  He didn't feel as though he was incapacitated in any way, but that wouldn't wash if he were to get into an accident or pulled over by the police.

He made his way to the living room and settled down on the couch.  He hoped that Taylor's mood would improve by morning, or that she would completely forget the entire scene that played out in her bedroom.  Either way, he was sure he would have some explaining to do.  After removing his shoes and shirt, he stretched out his long frame and pulled down the afghan that was draped over the back of the couch.  He wasn't sure he was looking forward to morning's arrival.

Taylor lay sprawled out on her bed still fully clothed.  She was too tired to change and wasn't sure her stomach could handle the activity if she tried.  Her brain was in a tequila funk and as much as the errant thought that Ettore was still in her house tried to push past that cloud, it was not given the chance.  His name began to echo in her head again.  It danced to a beat all its own as it grew louder to match the thumping in her brain.  She covered her face with a pillow and silently begged it to go away.  _Ettore__ Sansone.  Ettore Sansone._  The bastard rejected her.  He set her up just to watch her make a fool of herself.  She could just hear the gossip that would be floating around the dealership.  

_"Si, she begged me to take her to bed.  Ha.  The Ice Queen actually thought, I, Ettore Sansone, would be interested in her?  That is laughable."_

His voice and imagined words mocked her as she drifted off to sleep with his name still echoing in her mind.

"Oh God," Taylor groaned hours later when her throbbing headache awakened her.  She silently cursed herself for drinking so much.  She sat up slowly and tried to focus her eyes on the bedside clock.  Even that small activity was painful.  She needed aspirin and coffee; that would help.  At this point, there was one thing she could be thankful for; she wasn't nauseous.  She hadn't had many hangovers in her lifetime, and she was more than grateful that tequila didn't make her sick.  _It's six o'clock_, she thought when her eyes finally focused.  It was far too early to be up after a night like last night.  

She stood and walked slowly to the bathroom with a hand pressed to her forehead the entire way.  If she didn't hold it there, she felt sure her head would explode.  As she took care of her personal needs, she realized she still wore the clothing she had on the prior evening.  _I must have **really** been out of it_.  Most of the evening was a blur and her mind was too clouded to focus.  As quickly as she could manage, she removed her clothing and donned her robe.  She had cottonmouth worse than she could ever remember and determined that a bushel or two could probably be harvested from her tongue alone.  With that amusing thought echoing in her brain, she brushed her teeth and then slowly made her way down to the kitchen for her salvation – coffee and aspirin.

Donovan heard the rustling in the kitchen and glanced at his watch.  He had to check in with the team and had not meant to sleep so late.  He could duck out the front while she was in the kitchen, but if she heard him, and he knew she would, then he would only make a bad situation worse.  He tossed the afghan off him and sat up slowly.  Scrubbing his hands over his face to brush away the last remnants of sleep, he stood with the intention of going to Taylor to explain his behavior last evening.  He donned his shirt and shoes and moved toward the doorway.

With the coffee brewing, Taylor started toward the front of the house to retrieve the morning paper.  As she drew nearer to the door and the sun's light turned brighter, she changed her mind.  Too much light while her head felt like a nuclear bomb waiting to go off was not a good thing.  She turned just outside the living room doorway and released a scream so loud she was sure she would never recover from the pain she inflicted upon herself.  Only after she took a few calming breaths did she manage to ask the man whom she had just collided with, "What are you doing in my house?!"

…to be continued…


	4. Dawn's Early Light

Chapter Four - Dawn's Early Light 

"You don't remember, do you?" Donovan asked as he reached out and grasped her lightly by the shoulders.

"Remember?" She trailed off as the memories of the previous evening poured back into her mind.  "I remember," she added dejectedly.  "Why are you here?  Is it so important for you to continue to humiliate me?"

He shook his head slightly, forcing himself to stay in character.  "_Porcoddio__!_ [Goddamn!], you are a stubborn woman."  He touched her cheek softly and released an exasperated sigh when she wrenched out of his grasp.  "It was never my intention to humiliate you.  I'm sorry you feel that way."  He made a move toward her again, but quickly backed off when she flinched away.  "Why is it so hard for you to understand that I did not want to take advantage of you?"

She absently wondered what he had shouted in his language, but let the thought drop.  "This is ridiculous, Ettore.  Why are you even here?" she asked again.  "Why can't you leave me alone?"  She could feel the tears pricking her eyes and cursed herself for her weakness.  

Although she worked hard to keep him at a distance each time he approached her, she had let her defenses down with him.  She was unprepared for the emotional baggage that went along with it.  She wanted to believe he was genuine and that he found her attractive; she also knew that it was impossible.  How could he find her anything but abhorrent?  

She wasn't sure what was hurting her more at the moment - her enormous headache or the words that were about to leave his mouth.

"You can't keep pulling away from me, Taylor.  You'll run out of room sooner or later."  He almost smiled when she glared at him.  The defiant spark in her eye was something he had come to expect.  It was the one thing he could picture even when he could not get a good look at her eyes through her thick glasses.  "Why can't you believe that I want you?"

"Look at me, Ettore.  You could have a supermodel draped over your arm.  I'm no beauty," she reasoned.

He reached her in two quick strides.  He placed his forefinger and thumb under her chin, tipping her head up so that he could look into her eyes.  "You are so wrong, Taylor.  You hide behind that cold matronly façade you've created, but there is so much more to you than that."  He dipped his head and brushed his lips to hers.  "I wanted you last night.  I want you now," he informed her huskily.  "But I want it to be something you also want."

"Stop it," she whispered as she averted her eyes from his knowing gaze.  She would swear he could look right through her and see each and every one of her secrets.  

"Stop what, Taylor?  Be honest with yourself as well as me," he demanded softly.  "You can keep yourself hidden away from the rest of the world, but I can see you.  You can't hide from me."

"I can't deal with this now," she cried as she pulled away from him.  "My head feels like it's going to explode."  She went to the cupboard and searched through the contents until she found her bottle of aspirin.  She dry swallowed a few tablets and then poured a cup of coffee.  She knew he was watching her, but she hoped if she ignored him long enough he would go away.  _Sure, Taylor.  Real adult of you._

"I won't press," he insisted as he came to stand directly behind her.

He stood so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.  She wanted to lean back against him and take comfort in that warmth.  Would it be so awful to give in to her desire just once?  Would it?  _It will be, if he is anything like Jason_.  "Just standing so close is pressing, Ettore.  You must know that."

He gently brushed her hair off to the side.  He leaned down and kissed the tender flesh of her neck.  "No more pushing.  I will leave you now, but I will see you tonight."

Her body stiffened when his lips touched her skin.  She wanted to turn around, plunge her hands into his silky black hair, and kiss him until he begged for air.  To be totally honest, she wanted to do much more than that, but she refused to let her mind go there.  If she visited that forbidden place, she would never be able to return.  "Fine.  Whatever," she ground out through clenched teeth.  She knew as well as he did that she would never see him again outside of work.  She could deal with it as long as he didn't touch her again.

"Until later," he said, stepping away from her.  He glanced back at her one last time before he left the kitchen.  She was frozen in the same spot as though she was afraid to move.  He was tempted to call out to her.  He had the feeling she would willingly come to him, but he wouldn't play those games with her.  _Aren't you playing with her, Ettore?  Aren't you just using her?_  Sometimes he really hated his inner voice.  He _was_ using her, and when he obtained the information he needed from her, he would never see her again.  _You're a bastard, Donovan._

~*~ 

"So?  How'd it go?"  Cody demanded.

"Nice to see you, too," Donovan replied as he sat down on the edge of the bed.  He had taken a few minutes to run by Ettore's apartment to shower and change.  He had barely walked in the hotel room before Cody hit him with questions.

"It _is_ nice to see you, Donovan," Monica inserted.  "But we're beyond bored.  So.spill."

Donovan laughed.  "I'm making headway," he supplied elusively.  The sad fact was that he was getting nowhere fast.  The only thing developing in the case was his feelings for Taylor, and that would only prove to be his undoing.  He had to find another way to get the information he needed.  The longer he was around her, the more likely he would hurt her.  His nasty little voice perked right up at that thought.  _So arrogant of you to think she will fall for you.  The world revolves around the mighty Donovan, does it?  Could it be possible it's you that is falling and afraid **she** will be the one to cause **you** pain?  Think about it._

"Right," Alex snapped.  "Thanks for the detailed briefing."  She moved to sit alongside him and nudged him in the ribs.  "Did ya get some?" she asked, winking.

"Very crass, Agent Cross," he returned.  "The most I've managed is that she allows me in the same room with her.  She'll be at the club again tonight and Ettore will be there also."

"Ooh, so you _did_ make headway!  The Ice Queen has thawed."

"Not entirely," Donovan corrected.  "But she's coming around."

"I'm sure she is," Cody snickered.

"Grow up, Cody."

"Yes, sir."

"Any news from Jake?" Donovan asked. 

Monica nodded.  "He's joined the transportation company and is scheduled to deliver the next shipment of vehicles.

"Good.  By then, we should have the proof we need from Miss Kinney.  When we get our hands on the next shipment of coke, we can wrap this up and get back to Chicago."

"Thank God," was cried in unison.

Donovan arched a brow at them.  He was not so sure he was in agreement with them.  He dreaded what was going to be left in their wake.  More in particular, he dreaded who was going to be used and then betrayed.  The more time he spent with her, the more his sixth sense was telling him she didn't deserve what she was going to be put through.

~*~

Taylor spent a good part of her Saturday morning soaking in a hot bath.  Her headache had reared back to a dull roar and she was at least able to think clearly again.  She silently cursed the man whose name she refused to say; she was tired of it echoing endlessly for hours within her mind.  It was his fault she had drank so much the previous night.  His presence had thrown her totally off balance and she took the easy way around her inhibitions.  She lost herself in tequila and paid for it dearly.  

She groaned as his rejection of her replayed in her mind.  It would be easy to continue to believe he had pushed her away because she repulsed him, but the memory of his kisses made that thought impossible to accept.  Passion and demand mixed and mingled with each caress of his lips and tongue.  When she closed her eyes she could feel the sensations as though they were happening in real time.  She bit her lip and forced herself out of the tub.  She had to do something to stop herself from thinking about him constantly.  He was haunting her every thought and it was driving her out of her mind.  

What amazed her most was that he insisted he had been thinking of her well being when he put a stop to their activities.  She had wanted to call it lovemaking, but wasn't that reserved for people who cared for each other and not for relative strangers?  Not wanting to call it a failed 'one night stand', she just decided not to think about it any longer.  She reminded herself that he was nothing more than a lowlife salesman who was only using her, but why?  It was in his nature.  She wasn't sure what his angle was, but he wanted something from her.  It had to be more than 'that activity', because she knew she wasn't that desirable, no matter what he had said.  Sooner or later, he would reveal his motives and her opinions of him and his profession would be justified.  

In the meantime, she had to arrange for Bubo's meal.  She was also concerned about his health.  His cough was worse than it had been the day before.  She dressed quickly and made her way to the diner where Jeanie had a lunch consisting of a chicken salad sandwich, chips, and a large sweet tea waiting for her.  Bubo had not been on his bench between her house and the diner, but she knew where she would find him.  He enjoyed the activity of the tourists on the weekends and usually could be found on a partially secluded bench in Emmet Park not too far from the main stream of activity.

She took a bus to the river front and made her way to the park and found Bubo exactly where she thought he would be.  He looked very tired and his cough had worsened.  After a long half hour of convincing, she finally managed to get Bubo to go to his 'home' and get some rest.  She walked with him there, still carrying his lunch.  Once at his home, she left him with strict instructions to stay put and eat his lunch.  She was going to visit an old friend of his and ask him to come for a visit later.  Only after Bubo promised her, or at least, she was sure he promised her, that he would wait on his friend's visit, did Taylor leave him.

.to be continued.


	5. The Search

**Chapter Five – The Search**

After putting in his required Saturday hours at the dealership and closing the deal Philippe failed to do the prior evening, Donovan went back to Ettore's apartment.  He decided he would make an appearance at the club again since he knew Taylor would be there.

She had been on his mind most of the day, if not all day.  The accounting office was closed on Saturday, so there was no opportunity to see her.  He had tried calling, but the answering machine picked up.  He didn't bother leaving a message; she would just take it as though he was pressuring her more.

He wanted to see her; he realized that after hours of agonizing over her perception of him.  Why he was so determined to win her over had him baffled.  He could have prodded her last night for information.  In her drunken state, she probably would have told him everything she knew about Creswell.  Instead, he was making foolish mistakes, such as going after the woman for more than just milking her for information.  He would have had Jake's hide by now if he had pulled any of the crap he was pulling.  He had to wonder what his motivation was.    

He was damned attracted to Taylor, which surprised the hell right out of him.  It wasn't just physical need and he wouldn't bother to waste his time lying about it.  It hadn't been all that long since he had last taken a woman to his bed.  He wasn't in a serious relationship, nor had he been in one for some time, but he had plenty of casual relationships to satisfy his urges.

He was at a loss.  He was not acting like a trained Agent going after an objective.  It was more like a man wooing a woman.  Was he that weak?  Had he been out of action so long he had lost touch with what was most important?  _She's not important?  Remember that when you see the hurt in her eyes again.  Harden yourself against that, you prick._

He shook his head and lay down on his bed.  He willed the world away so that he might get a few hours sleep before he headed out to the club…and Taylor.

~*~

"She's not here!" Dave yelled across the bar.

"No?" Donovan asked, perplexed.  He was about to search out her friends on the dance floor when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hey, Ettore," Tammy-Lynn greeted.  "Looking for Taylor?"

"_Salve!_ [Hello] Yes, I am.  The bartender said she is not here."

"Hospital," she yelled as she was grabbed by the arm and pulled toward the dance floor.

"She's in the hospital?  What happened?" He yelled back, but only received a shrug as Tammy-Lynn disappeared into the crowd.  Taylor was in the hospital?  

"Try Savannah Memorial," Dave offered.  "That's what Melanie said when they first arrived."

"_Molte__ grazie."_

He made his way to Savannah Memorial, all the while having a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He was slightly surprised to discover he was worried about her as his mind raced with the hundreds of possible things that could have happened to her.

"Has Taylor Kinney been admitted," he asked the clerk as he stepped up to the admissions desk.

After checking admissions, she said, "No.  No one by that name has been admitted.  You might try ER."  She pointed to her left as she turned her attention back to her paperwork.

"_Grazie_."

He checked with the Emergency Room attendant and looked around the waiting area without any luck.  He was just about to give up and go back to the hotel to check in with his team when he heard her voice.  He turned in her direction and saw her walking down the hall next to a doctor.  His worry drifted away when he realized she was not ill or injured.  He was also glad to see she had not donned those thick glasses that hid her pretty face and eyes.  Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she looked comfortable in jeans and a lavender sweater.

"Thank you, Mark," he heard her say.

"Don't thank me yet, Taylor.  You know how I feel about this," he admonished softly.  

Donovan's stomach soured just a bit at the sight of the doctor pressing an innocent kiss to her cheek.  _What in the hell is wrong with you?_ he thought and wondered what exactly was between Taylor and this doctor.

"I know.  I'll work on it."  She smiled sweetly.  "Promise."

"You better."

Taylor turned away from Mark and the sight of Ettore Sansone standing before her nearly caused her to have a heart attack.  Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him in his tight jeans and button down shirt that was left untucked.  After she regained her senses, her suspicion kicked in.  "Are you stalking me?" she asked incredulously.

"No!  Tammy-Lynn said you were in the hospital," he explained earnestly.  "I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Taylor shook her head.  She was touched by his obvious thoughtfulness, but at the same time, irritated.  She waved a hand toward the door, urging him in that direction.  The last thing she wanted was to have her personal business discussed in front of the people in the busy Emergency Room.  Once outside, she turned to him.  "Now…why are you here?"

"Tammy-Lynn…"

Taylor snorted a bit.  "I love her to death, but Tammy-Lynn is a ditz."

He watched as she walked off without another word.  He had to hurry to catch up to her.  "That's it?  That's all you've got to say to me?"

"Look," she said irritably and stopped to talk to him.  "I really need to go.  There's something I have to do."

"Fine.  Let me drive you," he suggested as she began walking again.

"No," she answered without missing a step.

"Taylor, don't be like this…"

"Give me a break," she snapped.  "I don't know you from Adam and you think you deserve to be included in my private life?  Who do you think you are?"

_Frank Donovan, prick extraordinaire_.  "Someone who wants to know you.  Someone who wants you to know him."  _Not the real me, of course.  Wouldn't that just send her running for the hills?_

Taylor laughed sarcastically.  "You know all the right words, Ettore."  She moved back to his side.  "Very well.  You win this round.  I would appreciate the ride; it will save a lot of time."

"This way," he said, smiling as he placed a hand to the small of her back, urging her forward.  "Where are we going?"

Taylor directed him toward the Riverwalk and a seemingly abandoned warehouse.  He voiced his concern at being in such a place at such a late hour, but she just waved it off and pulled a small ring of keys from her purse.  She looked over at him briefly before she unlocked the front door and switched on an overhead light.  After locking the door behind them, she headed to the far side of the warehouse and climbed a small flight of stairs.  

He was extremely curious as to what she was up to and why, but he could do nothing but wait for her to explain.  He watched in silence as she threw up her hands in exasperation when she came upon what appeared to be someone's living quarters.  It contained a small coffee table, a worn mattress with a few blankets scattered about, a wooden chair, and two lamps. 

"Damn it!" she exclaimed, obviously upset.  

"What's wrong?"

"He's not here," she explained elusively.  Shaking her head, she turned to leave.  "I don't know why I'm surprised.  I asked him to stay put; I should have known better."

"Who?" Donovan asked, his confusion apparent.

"Can you take me home?  It's the only place he could have gone."

He nodded and followed her as she headed back down the stairs.  He knew exactly to whom she referred.  He couldn't voice that out loud.  It wouldn't look good for him to admit to knowing more about her than she had revealed to him.  "Are you going to tell me or keep me in the dark?"

Taylor hurried to the car and slid into the passenger side, waiting for Ettore to climb behind the wheel before answering.  She wasn't exactly sure how to explain, or if she even wanted to try.  "It's complicated and will probably seem very strange to you."

"Le me be the judge, _per favore_."

She nodded and lapsed into a thoughtful silence although she knew he was waiting for an answer.  In all the time he had spent trying to get her to speak to him at the club, the dealership, or even her apartment, he had barely said two words about himself.  He was unlike any other salesman she had ever had the misfortune to know.  It was in their genetic makeup to think only of themselves.  If he were true to his nature, he would be going on and on about himself.  She found it a bit unsettling, if not a welcome change from other men she had known.  Uncaring that she was changing the subject completely and abruptly, she turned to him and said, "Ettore, tell me something about yourself.  I assume you're from Italy, but you haven't talked about yourself once since I've known you."

Frank chuckled.  "It's not as though you've given me much of a chance."

She smiled and nodded.  "Yes, point taken.  Tell me something…anything."

Donovan was a bit surprised by her sudden change of subject, but he wasn't about to object.  She would tell him what or whom she was chasing soon enough.  He smiled easily and went over his alias' background.  "My mother is Italian and my father is American.  He was stationed overseas in the Air Force when he met her.  Instead of returning home, he stayed on and settled in Messina."

Taylor closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat as she listened to him talk about his family and his life growing up in a cozy fisherman's cottage.  He told her that, although he had a wonderful childhood, when his parents passed away a few years ago, he decided he wanted to do some traveling.  That was how he wound up in the United States and currently in Savannah, Georgia.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," she said, opening her eyes as the vehicle came to a stop.  "And thank you for bringing me home."

  
He exited the car as quickly as she did.  He was still determined to find out what she had been up to at the hospital.  "Taylor…what's going on with you?"

"Nothing…" she said absently as she focused her attention about a block down the street.

Donovan's attention also turned in that direction.  He easily spotted the lone figure sitting on the bench outside the cemetery.  "Taylor?" he called softly as she moved off toward the man.

She shook her head, but otherwise did not acknowledge him.  He followed her quietly as she walked down the quiet and darkened street and kept off to the side as Taylor sat down beside Bubo.

"Bubo…"

A tired whistle sounded.

"I spoke to Doctor Mark today after he came to see you.  He said you didn't eat your supper, and that he's afraid your cold has turned into bronchitis."  She reached out and touched his forehead.  "You're burning up, Bubo…you can't stay out in the night's air."

He shook his head slightly and emitted a fury of clicks.  

"Don't argue with me.  It gets too chilly and if you're not careful, you'll develop pneumonia."  She stood and offered him her hand.  "You're coming home with me.  We've got to get that fever down and Doctor Mark gave me some medicine for you."

Donovan thought taking a down-and-out man into her home for the evening was a bad idea.  He was about to voice that opinion when Bubo clasped onto Taylor's hand and stood.  Donovan immediately noticed how pale the man was, making him look older than he probably was.  As far as Donovan could ascertain, Bubo appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties.     

"Taylor…"

"It's okay, Ettore.  Trust me," she said as if she was reading his troubled thoughts.  "It's more important now to get Bubo inside, cleaned up, and in a warm bed," she insisted.

"Really, I think this is a bad idea," he protested.  

"Help me, Ettore," she asked softly.  "I'll be indebted to you."

Frank shook his head.  "I will help you, but please do not feel you owe me."  He put an arm around Bubo for support and helped the older man walk to Taylor's house.  

…to be continued.


	6. Bubo's Story

**What is and What Should Never Be**

**Chapter** **Six**  -- Bubo's Story

Frank helped Bubo to sit on the edge of the large garden tub in Taylor's bathroom.  She turned on the faucet, tested the water until it was warm enough, and then set the drain stop.  She then made her way to the sink, opened the cabinet underneath, and removed a men's shaving bag.  He found that an odd thing for a single, unattached woman to keep in her bathroom.

Taylor moved back to the tub and began placing the items from the bag onto the tray that sat at one corner of the tub.  "If you're up to shaving, Bubo…if not, that's okay too," she assured.  She opened the small closet and brought out two fresh towels and placed them on the towel rack.  Without a word, she left the room, returning moments later with a pair of men's pajamas and robe.  "I'll wash your clothes, Bubo.  I promise to have them ready for you by morning.  Just leave them in here when you're finished bathing."

Bubo remained silent as he watched Taylor move about, finally turning off the water.  He also kept a close eye on the man who was with her.  He'd seen the slick looking man skulking about for weeks on end, and he wondered if Taylor knew the man had been keeping tabs on her.  

"If you need help, whistle for me, 'kay?" Taylor urged as she moved toward the door and indicated to Ettore to leave.  "Your room is straight across the hall from here, Bubo.  I'm going down to the kitchen to heat you some chicken soup."  

She waited for Ettore to leave the room and was halfway through the doorway when she heard a disheartened whistle followed by several clicks.  She turned back toward Bubo to see the forlorn expression on his face.   She sighed a little and turned back to Ettore.  "Please give me a moment; he's upset.  You can wait for me in the kitchen."

Frank nodded and walked away, hesitating at the top of the stairs.  He could clearly hear the outpouring of clicks and whistles from Bubo.  He knew he should keep walking, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"It's funny," he heard Taylor say.  "He is worried about you being in my home, and you are just as worried about his presence.  You both worry too much."  

Several short whistles followed Taylor's statement.

"Oh, I know you mean well.  It's okay.  I trust him.  God help me, but I really do," Taylor admitted.  "Now, it's time you worry about you."

Frank stood then quietly began descending the stairs when he heard Taylor moving toward the doorway.  "I'll be back up in thirty minutes," she called out as she closed the door behind her.  She hurried down to the kitchen to find Ettore making a pot of coffee.  "Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you."

"It is nothing," he answered smoothly.  His mind was still reeling from her admission to Bubo that she trusted him.  Ettore.  She trusted Ettore.  Oh how she would hate him when she discovered there was no such person as Ettore Sansone.  _She'll never understand, no matter how you explain it to her._  "How is…Bubo?"

"He's concerned about you," she admitted with a smile.  "Hopefully, he's bathing.  I'll give him some time before I head back up."  She went to the pantry and rummaged around until she found the bed tray.  Not really that much into cooking, Taylor had asked Jeanie to make some chicken soup earlier.  Being the sweetheart that she was, and having a key to Taylor's home, Jeanie brought the soup by and stashed it in the fridge while Taylor was at the hospital.  She took out the container and emptied it into a small pan to heat on the stove.

"How do you know he's concerned about me?  How can you say you understand him?" Frank asked curiously.  Taylor didn't answer him immediately.  Instead she busied herself by heating up the soup.  When the coffee was ready, she poured two cups and handed him one.  "Taylor?"

She shook her head.  "Please…I can't."

He didn't understand, of course.  How could he, if she refused to explain it?  "Taylor, when will you stop hiding from me?"

She turned to face him.  "I'm not hiding," she insisted firmly.  "I'm right here, out in the open.  You said you would not push, Ettore.  You're pushing."

Frank shook his head and closed the distance between them.  He grasped her lightly by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.  "I am not pushing.  What I am is concerned that you are bringing a homeless man into your home.  You…"

Taylor smiled and touched his cheek softly.  Her finger trailed along his beard.  "I appreciate your concern.  I really do," she assured him.  "Let me get Bubo settled.  After he eats, and takes the antibiotics that Mark sent for him, and begins to rest, I'll try to answer your questions."

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the touch of her hand on his face.  When he opened them, he found himself mesmerized by the deep green of her eyes.  When he dipped his head to capture her lips, she pulled away quickly and turned her attention back to the stove.  "Taylor?" he whispered huskily.

She smiled slightly as she glanced over her shoulder.  "Bubo comes first, Ettore.  If you kiss me…I can't afford to neglect him.  He's too ill."

Frank returned her smile.  "Patience."

"Thank you."

~*~

"He seems to be sleeping comfortably now," Taylor commented as she disappeared into a small hall closet and reappeared with a pile of clothing that resembled those that Bubo entered the house wearing.  The only exception – these clothes were clean.  "He took the antibiotics and ate most of the soup, so I guess that's a good sign.  And he actually managed to shave.  He looks better.  If only he felt better…"

"Okay, Taylor.  I think it's time you told me what's going on here," Frank demanded curiously.  He kept his tone soft so as not to piss her off.

Taylor shrugged as she placed the clothing atop the dresser just inside the guest room that Bubo was sleeping in.  "I'm kind of tired, Ettore," she lied, not wishing to go into detail, although she had promised the handsome Italian that she would.  She moved across the hall and retrieved Bubo's dirty clothing and shoved it down the laundry chute.

"You feed him, clothe him, do his laundry, and take care of his medical needs," Frank observed.  "Don't you find that behavior the least bit odd?" he questioned as he followed her to her bedroom.

Taylor laughed softly as she closed the door behind them.  "I can't take the chance that he'll overhear," she explained when she noticed the perplexed expression on Ettore's face.  "They say Savannah harbors some odd folk, and I suppose it's true.  But, when you discover the reason behind most of our oddities, we're not so crazy."

"I never said you were crazy, Taylor.  I would just like to understand what's going on," Frank stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course.  Don't for one second think I believe you are entitled to any information regarding my life," she said coldly.  "I'm only telling you these things so that you can understand Bubo better.  He's a good man."

"I never said…" he began, but was stopped when Taylor raised a brow in his direction.  _Is that what I look like?_

She crawled to the middle of her bed and sat cross-legged while she waited for Ettore to get settled.  Once he was seated on the edge of her bed, she began.  "Bubo arrived in Savannah some seven years ago.  He wasn't the man you see now.  He was a successful advertising executive.  He came to town every month for a week to handle his clients here.  His last visit, he brought his family with him."

Frank listened attentively as she spoke.  It was hard not to notice her eyes fill with tears as she unfolded Bubo's story.

"On his drive out of town, an eighteen-wheeler hydroplaned in bad weather and crossed over into oncoming traffic.  Bubo never had a chance.  He lost his entire family in that wreck."  Taylor blinked back the tears that stung her eyes.  "When he came out of his coma, he was left brain damaged.  Doctor Mark was his physician then, and he took great care of Bubo.  He did all he could, but Bubo will never be what he was.  He lost the ability to speak and communicate normally."

"You seem to do all right with him," Frank observed.  He found it uncanny the way the two of them communicated with Bubo's apparent disability.  There was some latent connection between the two.  Perhaps Taylor reminded Bubo of someone he lost.

"I couldn't explain it, even if I wanted to."  Taylor sighed heavily as she toyed with a loose thread on the comforter.  

"You said he lost his entire family?  That consisted of…"

"His wife, daughter, and son," Taylor supplied sadly.

For a moment, Frank thought she was going to bolt from the bed and take off for parts unknown.  She appeared agitated and on edge.  "How old was the daughter?"

Taylor shrugged.   "I really couldn't say for sure.  I think she would be around my age if she had lived."

Frank nodded and shifted slightly, bumping his knee against hers accidentally.  "It could be that you're close enough in age to his daughter, coupled with your concern for him, that keeps him close to you," he surmised.  "How did you get to know him?" he asked curiously as he watched her move away from him. 

"I just found him one day…sitting on the bench.  Day after day he was there.  It was obvious he wasn't eating, and it broke my heart to watch him slowly killing himself."

"So you began feeding him?  How did you find out all of this about him?"

Taylor lifted her head quickly to gaze into dark, sympathetic eyes.  _Does he really care?  Is he really more than just a saleswhore?_  "Doctor Mark saw me with him one day.  He approached me and…"

"Why isn't he in an institution?"

Taylor nodded.  It was a logical question.  "If only it were that easy."  She moved to her knees and inched closer to him.  In the back of her mind, the thought nagged at her that she was letting him get too close; allowing him into her life.  "He's been in and out of several, but he always manages to get away from them.  He always finds his way back here."  Tears slowly spilled down her cheeks.  "You may laugh, but I swear he's looking for his family."

Frank shook his head.  "I'd never laugh at you, Taylor.  It's a very sad story," he said as he cupped her chin and wiped her tears away with his finger.  "You've got a very big heart, Taylor," he whispered.  _Is there room in it for me?_

Taylor released a disheartened laugh.  "There are many who would disagree with that statement, Ettore Sansone."  

"Then they are fools."  His eyes locked onto hers and, if questioned later, he would swear time stood still for several moments.  His body drifted towards her as if it had a will of its own.  One hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her in place as his lips descended to hers.  He was breaking every rule in his line of work, but God help him, he couldn't care less.  As his tongue slipped past her parted lips to taste her sweetness, he vowed to find some way to rule her out with regards to any involvement in the drug smuggling.  When her tongue touched his in answer to his exploration of her warm, delicious mouth, he further vowed to make Taylor his.

…to be continued.


	7. Trust and Lies

What is and What Should Never Be Chapter Seven –  Trust and Lies 

Startled.  Yes, he would easily admit to being just that when Taylor reached up and covered the hand he held to the back of her neck with hers.  She slid her fingers under his hand and gently urged it away and then just as determinedly, she removed herself from the bed.  He looked up at her questioningly, but she kept her back to him.

Shaking his head, his long hair falling into his eyes, he stood and closed the distance between them.  His hands lightly gripped her upper arms as he brought her back to rest against his chest.  "Tell me this is wrong," he whispered huskily as he brushed her lustrous hair off to one side.   He dipped his head, his lips seeking the soft, warm flesh of her throat.  

"It…it's wr…" her voice trailed to a soft moan as he kissed and nuzzled her neck.  "I don't want to be hurt again," she admitted in a small, little girl voice even as she reached back to caress his cheek.  

His lips drew a soft path along her neck to her ear.  "I don't want to hurt you, Taylor."  A sound left his throat as his arms encircled her from behind.  One hand rested at the hollow of her throat, allowing his fingers to tease her silky flesh, dipping inside her blouse to tantalize the top swell of her breast.  "Let me in, Taylor.  You can't live your life afraid…everyone takes chances; there are no guarantees."

She released a soft cry.  "If you were anyone other than who you are, Ettore," she explained futilely.  He had already won this fight; she just had yet to surrender.  "I know men like you.  Saleswhores…they lie easily.  Hide their true intentions until it's time to strike and get what they're really after."

Frank's hands dropped in reaction to her biting words.  She hit closer to home than she could have ever imagined.  He could easily make believe that she was his for the taking, that she would conform to whatever line of bull he threw at her, but she was too good to play with like that.  He didn't want to play; he wanted real, honest, blood boiling passion.  He wanted Taylor, wanted to feel her soft, pliable body wriggling beneath him as he pleasured her.  _Stop torturing yourself, Donovan.  It's over.  Salesman or FBI agent…the glaring truth is that you're a fucking liar.  She deserves better._

He moved away and headed for the door.  He was just about to turn the knob when the sound of her voice stopped him.  "Bottom line, Ettore.  Tell me what you want."

Frank turned; his gaze took in every lovely inch of her.  She was scared; her chest heaved with her uncertainty, her eyes flashed with need, and her chin jutted out determinedly.  "You know what I want," he answered elusively.  He couldn't tell her what he really wanted, and that was to tell her the truth.  Every bit of it, even if it cost him the case if she was even remotely involved in the drug smuggling.  He'd sell his soul to the devil to have one chance to love her.  _Make love to her, you mean.  Yeah…_

Taylor shook her head.  "No, I don't know."  

Frank approached her slowly.  His eyes never wavered from hers and when he was within reach, he gathered her into his arms.   "I have no intention of hurting you, Taylor.  Whatever happens, whatever the future brings…if you can trust in me, we'll make it work."

_Trust in me_.  Three little words that scared the living hell out of her.  She swallowed hard as she brought her hand to lie tenderly against his cheek.  Her mind screamed at her to push him away, but her heart begged her to believe the truth it found in his beautiful brown eyes.  "I want to trust you," she whispered, losing herself within his eyes.

Frank dipped his head ever so slightly, watching for the tiniest sign that she would pull away from his advances.  That sign never came.  His mouth grazed hers lightly, testing the waters.  Instead of pulling away, Taylor molded herself against him, pushing forward and deepening the kiss.   He felt her hand slip into his hair, winding it possessively around her fingers.  Since he had grown out his hair, this had to have been the only time he truly liked the feel of it as it slipped through her delicate fingers.

While his senses reeled from the feel of her hands exploring his body, as well as the taste of her lips and mouth, he did a little exploring of his own.  His hands slipped beneath her sweater, finding the smooth and silky skin of her back.  Upwards they trailed; his thumbs skimmed along her sides until reaching the swell of her breasts.   Caressing lightly through the material of her bra, he released a needy moan, moving their bodies slowly until her back came in contact with the wall.

Taylor gasped slightly when she hit the wall with a soft thud.  A tiny moan of disappointment left her mouth when he eased away, ending the feel of his luscious lips sliding seductively over hers.  Each pull of his lips, touch of his tongue against hers, the heady warmth of the moist cavern of his mouth, even the tantalizing scratch of his beard, was melting down every apprehension she had ever possessed.  Her need for this man, in more than just the physical sense, was overwhelming her, driving her to her knees.  If not for the support of his strong arms, Taylor was sure she would be a puddle on the floor.

Heavy breathing was the tempo that set her pulse.  As she gazed into eyes darkened by passion, her fingers slipped from his silky tresses to flit over the collar of his shirt and down to unbutton the offending garment.  Skin.  She longed to see the rich olive tone of his skin, feel the firm muscles of his chest pressed beneath her palm, and take pleasure in every kiss she placed upon his heated flesh.  As each button was undone, she moved the material aside to gain access to her desire.  With every inch exposed to her greedy sight, Taylor proceeded to do just as she pleased.  Her fingers stroked, her lips pressed and suckled, her teeth nipped and nibbled, and her tongue licked and laved over his flattened nipples until they stood erect for her attention.  

Frank groaned with ecstasy as each touch, kiss, lick, and nip sent sensations of blissful pleasure coursing through his veins.  He couldn't remember the last time he needed a woman so desperately.  Not just any woman…only one would do.  His fingers closed over the front clasp of her bra, which he unhooked easily, urging the garment aside.  He filled his hands with her supple breasts.  Her desire was more than evident as each peak pressed urgently against him.  Hardened nubs needed no coaxing; she responded instantly to his touch.

_Ettore__._  He heard the name moaned rapturously in his ear.  It threw him for just a moment, one that nearly led him to push her away.  _Frank!  Frank!_  His mind screamed, longing to hear her call _his_ name passionately.  He should stop; he knew it, his mind screamed it, but he was too far gone to listen.  He batted away any semblance of reason that was left within him as he urged her to lift her arms.  He eased the sweater up and over her head, tossing it aside without further thought.  He bent down, burying his face against her exposed neck.  He nibbled and kissed her tender flesh as she shrugged out of her bra and his fingers continued to delight in the feel of her body.

Taylor's hands went into his hair the second he captured one taut nipple between his teeth.  Did he know?  Was he aware that he was spiraling her into a depth she saw no way out of?  _No, No!_ her mind screamed against the ceaseless hungry moaning of her heart calling a determined _Yes, Yes!_  When his delicious tongue swirled around the nub he held loosely between his teeth, she felt her knees buckle.  She was near begging him to come inside her and they had just begun this dance.  Could he possibly be feeling the same need to be inside her?  

He felt her hands slide over his back and circle around to fumble momentarily with the catch on his belt.  If he thought to help her with her task, the need was secondary to his greater need to pull her neglected nipple into his mouth, devouring the sweet taste of her skin and listen to the ecstatic moans that drifted over and mingled with his own.  His awareness rose to the foreground when he felt her small hand slip into his now unzipped jeans, dip under the waistband of his boxer briefs and close determinedly around his hardened shaft.  'Uh…God," he moaned, letting loose of her nipple when his senses were jarred with the feel of her warm fingers encircling him.  He could do nothing more than lean against her, his face buried against her neck, his hands gripping her at the shoulders as she moved over him.  

He had to stop her soon; what he had, he wanted it for her.  His fingers curled lightly around her wrist, urging her away from him.  When he looked into her eyes, he found hers questioning him.  He kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose.  "I need to slow down, my beautiful Taylor," he explained through panted whispers.  Without another word, he helped her to remove the remainder of her clothing and then quickly shed his.  

Taylor took in the sight of his naked body.  She silently wondered how or why a man as gorgeous and breathtaking as the one who stood before her was making love to her.  Did she really want an answer to that?  No, she just wanted him.  She went readily into his embrace and accepted as well as returned his passionate kisses.  Her only protest was uttered when he eased her down onto the bed, but did not immediately follow her.  Instead, he took his time, studying every curve of her body with his eyes.  She wondered at her lack of embarrassment, but let it slide away as he joined her on the bed.   He kissed her lips briefly, but he left her wanting his kisses as his lips trailed a moist heavenly pattern over her body.  He paused again at her breasts, but did not linger, causing another soft protest.  She did not want for long, as he lifted suddenly, captured her lips in a hot, torrid kiss, but then left her again as his body slid along hers, his hands resting at her hips, his breath caressing the soft curls that pointed to her heated and moist core.

"Taylor," he whispered softly as he pressed a kiss to the inside of each thigh.  There was no mistaking her arousal; she was his and oh so ready for him.  

She cried out, biting her bottom lip as she remembered they were not alone in the house, when she felt the softest of kisses against her throbbing folds.  He was truly going to drive her mad, but it was a trip she was more than willing to take as long as he was the one doing the driving.  "Please, please," she begged when his tongue darted over her, teasing her.  She thought she heard him mumble a response, but she was too overwhelmed by her own mounting pleasure that she really wasn't sure.  Her head tossed wildly from side to side as one had gripped his hair and the other practically tore holes into the fabric of her sheets as she wrestled with the blissful pleasure of Ettore's ministrations.

Frank sucked her hardened bud lightly, feeling her squirm beneath him.  He held onto her hips with a firm grip and increased the pressure with his mouth, causing her to buck as she rode the first wave of her orgasm.  He grinned wickedly to himself as he ran his tongue along her folds again, dipping inside her, only to once again to have his mouth close over her bud, until she begged him to stop.

Kissing his way back up her body, he looked down upon her impassioned face before lowering his head to kiss her tenderly.  He felt her hands trail down his back and over the swell of his buttocks.  "Hey," he protested without force when she roughly pinched them.

"Don't make me wait any longer," she pleaded with unshed tears glistening in her eyes.  Never, ever had she needed what he was about to give her.

"Sweet, sweet, Taylor," he sighed, settling himself between her thighs.  His lips claimed her possessively as his hardness slid into her welcoming center.  He moaned loudly against her lips as she sheathed around him, gloving him tightly as she took his entire length into her.  They fit together, hip to hip, as though they were made for each other.  He lifted his head to see her face as he moved within her and noted the tear that fell from the corner of her eye.  "Baby…" he paused his movement.  "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head, her arms encircling him in a tender embrace.  "Everything is perfect," she assured him as a smile lit her face.  "Kiss me again…I cannot get enough of your luscious mouth."

He returned her smile before he granted her request and his mouth took hers in a hungry kiss.  His thrusts picked up tempo and her legs wrapped around his waist as she met him, thrust per thrust.  Time had lost all meaning to him as he lost himself within the ecstasy of her body and presence.  His senses slammed him full throttle when he heard her cries, felt her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, and felt her body tense and quake with the effects of her climax.  Nothing in the world matched the intense pleasure he felt as she met her release; not even the exquisite gratification of his own climax as he went over with her, giving her all that his body and soul possessed.

Taylor wrapped her arms around him tenderly as he collapsed on top of her.  The word heaven sprang into her mind as their bodies and minds calmed after such an intense experience.  They continued to kiss and touch each other leisurely, neither wanting it to completely end.  

Frank raised himself up onto his elbows to remove the bulk of his weight from her.  He dipped down and kissed away the tear that slowly moved down her cheek.  "I'm sorry that I hurt you," he whispered as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

Smiling, Taylor lifted slightly and kissed his beard covered chin.  "Just a happy tear, I promise."

He nodded and kissed her again before moving off her.  Startled, he looked down at her when she put a stop to his movement and their bodies remained joined intimately.

"I'm not ready to let go," she admitted softly.

"Nor am I," he returned as she held onto him possessively.  He rolled onto his back, without losing contact with her, until her body rested atop his.  He pulled the sheet over them, the night air cool on their perspiration soaked bodies.

She snuggled to him, her face buried against his neck.  She drank in the spicy scent of his after-shave mixed with his natural scent, which was only heightened by his recent activity.  She loved his smell and took comfort in the fact she was covered in it from head to toe.  It was a scent that would haunt her until her dying day.  

"_Potrei__ amarlo facilmente."_   ["I could easily love you."]  he said, slipping into Italian.  

"What did you say?" she asked dreamily.

"I said I love being with you," he lied.  He mentally kicked himself for even thinking the "L" word.  He could not afford it.  Already he had broken every rule he would set up for a subordinate.  He had decided he would find a way to clear Taylor from Creswell's activities instead of finding a way to nail Creswell through what knowledge she might possess.  He didn't rightly care at the moment.  With her body lying intimately on his, her hands touching every inch of his skin they could reach, her lips caressing the eagerly responsive flesh of his neck, it was all he could do to hold on to the slightest bit of his sanity.  

"Ready for round two?" Taylor asked, lifting up to look into his face as she bit back the grin that threatened to appear.  His growing hardness inside her was impossible for him to hide from her.

Frank looked at her through partially hooded eyes.  "I think you know the answer to that question," he answered in a blasé tone.

The grin that threatened came into fruition.  "I surely do, Ettore," she purred as his arms encircled her body and he rolled her neatly beneath him.  

...to be continued.


	8. Awakening New Fears

What is and What Should Never Be Chapter Eight – Awakening New Fears 

Taylor awakened sometime in the early morning hours.  Bubo's health weighed heavily on her mind and she needed to check on him.  How to get up without disturbing Ettore had her stumped.  She was cradled securely in the crook of his arm while her head was pillowed on his broad chest.  She lay there for a few moments listening to his steady breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, and wondering how this had all come to pass.

She eased herself up onto her elbow, noting that her slight movement caused his arm to slip from around her waist, freeing her.  She looked down at his handsome face relaxed in slumber, and wondered at how much younger he appeared.  She realized then how often he carried a frown, or a hardened look of concentration.

She ran a light finger along his bearded jaw line, remembering the tantalizing feel of it as his lips caressed her skin.  She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so comforted…so loved.  _Nonsense...it was just sex...wasn't it?_  She frowned as she gingerly moved away from him and off the bed.  Shrugging into her robe, she mentally pushed aside any foolish thoughts of how much Ettore might care for her.  She reminded herself who he was and that their relationship could not continue.  There was too big of a conflict of interest with their jobs, and she could not afford to lose hers.  There was too much in her life at stake.

She spared him one last look before she left the room.  She then thought that it was more likely that he would awaken and be repulsed by the knowledge he had been intimate with her.  _He'll tell himself he felt sorry for me._

She quickly opened the door to Bubo's room and slipped inside.  _Does it really matter why it happened, Taylor?  You wanted him as much if not more than he wanted you._  Pushing her thoughts aside, she placed a gentle hand on Bubo's forehead, thrilled to discover his fever had broken.  She would have to wake him in a couple of hours to ply him with more antibiotics, but for now she would let him continue to sleep.  "You'll be better in no time, Bubo," she whispered and then left the room.

She seriously could have used a cup of coffee at that point, but did not want to deal with Ettore if he smelled the aroma and came looking for her.  _Who are you kidding, Taylor?  He's going to wake up and run for the hills.  You'll never have him again._  With a sad sigh, Taylor lay down on the living room couch instead of returning to her room, afraid if her return awakened Ettore, she would be faced with the scenario of his rejection.  Memories of being held in Ettore's arms swirled in her mind and she wrapped herself in their rapturous comfort until she drifted off to sleep.

When Frank awakened, he instinctively reached for the sweet woman he had shared more with than any other woman in his life.  He had yet to tell her one truth about him, and yet he felt more real with her than he had ever felt with anyone.  If he could spend his life bringing a smile to her face it would be time well spent.  He had no real proof, but some innate feeling told him her life had been tough and he wanted to see her happy.

It saddened him that she had left him alone.  Perhaps what they had shared meant more to him than to her?  It was possible, and yet, her tender touch and whispered endearments were not his imagination.

He moved from the bed and pulled on his pants, zipping them, but leaving them unbuttoned.  Padding barefoot downstairs, he made his way slowly in the darkness.  He had expected to find a light burning downstairs, perhaps in the kitchen, but there was nothing but unfamiliar darkness.

The faint light from the overcast moon shone through the curtains, pointing him in the direction of the sleeping angel snuggled into a fetal position on the couch.  He kneeled beside her and tenderly brushed the hair from her face.  Her cheek was wet from tears she cried within her dream.  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she stirred from the contact of his fingers on her skin.  "You can't leave me," came her tortured whisper.  "I don't want to be alone…"

He wondered to whom she was speaking in her dreams.  It could not be him; he had not been in her life long enough for…  _For what?__  For you to feel that the greatest gift is to see her smile?_

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and in a soft, tender voice, told her everything would be okay.  Somehow, things would work out.

Taylor's eyes slowly fluttered open and then widened in surprise when she realized Ettore was kneeling beside her, gazing down at her.  

"Good morning," he whispered with a smile.

"You're here," she stammered, staring into his eyes.

"There is nowhere else I would want to be," he answered softly before brushing his lips to hers.  "Why are you sleeping on the couch?" he asked as he pulled away.

Taylor shrugged as she sat up and pulled her legs beneath her.  She did not hesitate to snuggle into his embrace as he sat beside her and reached for her.  "I got up to check on Bubo and didn't want to disturb your sleep," she explained, telling a half-truth.  What would he think if she admitted she was afraid of how he would react to her upon waking?

He felt the lopsided grin touch his lips as he rested his chin atop her head.  "Trust me, cara, when I say I would not have minded waking to your presence in the least."  He tenderly kissed her hair.  "As a matter of fact, I felt quite empty waking alone."

"I don't understand you, Ettore," she whispered, snuggling closer to the warmth of his bare chest as she splayed one hand over his sinewy muscles.

"What is to understand?" he questioned as he placed a finger under her chin and tipped her face up toward his.  "Can you understand this?" he asked as his mouth claimed hers possessively.

Breathlessly she pulled away, shaking her head slightly.  "I can understand that all too well."

He read the sadness in her face easily in the dim moonlight.  "What bothers you, cara?"

A heartbreaking sigh left her as she sat up and pushed herself up from the couch.  "We can't see each other like this, Ettore.  If word gets out, then Nelson will fire one or both of us.  The implications are too great.  The assumption will be that I could show favoritism toward you, or perhaps wrongly figure commissions in your favor."

A deep frown creased Frank's brow as he stood and turned her to face him.  Looking deeply into her eyes, he assured her, "I would not ask such a thing of you."  He watched mystified as the sad look in her eyes hardened to icy steel.

"It wouldn't be the first time," she murmured, pushing away from him as thoughts of Jason and how their relationship had progressed entered her mind.  Jason, also a former Creswell salesperson, had pursued her hot and heavy and she hadn't known what had hit her.  Jason had swept her off her feet with his good looks and skillful charms.  Only at the end had she become aware that he was never truly interested in her.  He only wanted her to cheat the company and pad his paychecks.  She had ended the relationship at that point, never to trust another 'saleswhore' again.  

"What are you saying?" he asked curiously.  He cupped her chin with one hand and tipped her head up so that he could see into her face.  The pain reflected in her green eyes tugged at his heart.  

"It was a long time ago, Ettore," she whispered, casting her eyes away from his.  "I was blindly in love with a smooth talking salesman.  He promised me the moon and the stars…he only neglected to tell me that it would be up to me to pay for them."  

Reading between the lines, Frank easily deduced that the man she spoke of asked her to do something illegal.  "You refused him?"

Taylor nodded.  "He was angry and would have tried to have me fired if Nelson had not discovered he had been having an affair with a very prominent client's wife."

_It is no great wonder she holds such distrust for salespeople._  He pressed a kiss to her forehead and released a deep sigh as he pulled her into his embrace and rested his chin atop her head.  If he had been unsure of her involvement in Creswell's illicit operation before, he was no longer.  If she would refuse to help a man she had been in love with, she would not be a party to something as immoral as drug smuggling.

~*~

Frank remained with Taylor while she awakened Bubo and gave him another dose of antibiotics.  While she was handling that, he had gone back to her bedroom to finish dressing.  He was just stepping into his shoes when the door eased open and she entered.  "How is Bubo doing?"

"Better," Taylor responded.  "You're leaving then?" she noted as she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her robe.

Frank nodded.  "I have a few things I must take care of, but I will call you later," he assured her.

Taylor shook her head as she took two steps toward him.  "There's no real reason for you to trouble yourself.  I told you that we couldn't continue to see each other."

Frank closed the remaining distance between them quickly.  He grasped her gently by the shoulders as he gazed intently into her eyes  "If you think for one second that what is between us means so little to me that I will ignore it to keep a _job_, you still have a great deal to learn about me."

Taylor lowered her gaze as the hurt in his voice penetrated her brain.  "I'm sorry…I…"

"You're just so ready to expect the worst in order to keep from being taken advantage of, _cara_, that you lose sight of the more important things in life."  He cupped her chin and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.  He dipped his head a bit further, settling his lips lightly at the shell of her ear.  "No job is worth giving up what has just been discovered," he whispered softly.

"What are you saying?" she asked as she pulled back slightly to look into his dark eyes.  

"I am saying," he replied, kissing her swiftly.  "That I am no longer interested in working for Nelson Creswell Motors."

"Ettore…" she protested.

Frank shook his head and placed a finger to her lips in an effort to cut her off.  "Consider it done, _cara_."  He kissed her again, briefly, and said, "I must go, but we will talk later."

~*~

"And where have you been, Mister?" Cody asked in mock exasperation.

"You had my cell if you needed me," Frank snapped irritably. 

"Yes, and you're still in yesterday's clothes," Monica observed, ignoring Donovan's temper.

Donovan spared her a harsh look.  "The simple truth is that I helped Taylor track down a friend who turned out to be seriously ill."  It didn't escape him that he conveniently left out the part where he made love to Taylor.  He strode purposefully toward the bathroom after stopping to gather clean clothes.  "Which brings me to this, Cody.  I want any and all information you can find on this character 'Bubo'.  Start running checks on accident victims from seven years ago.  You have his photo to match.  His wife and two children died in the accident."

"Why so concerned with this homeless man, boss?" Cody asked curiously.

"Just do it, Cody," he barked, closing the door behind him, leaving behind a dumbfounded Cody and Monica. He quickly shed his clothes and wondered absently where Alex was, but assumed she was out getting their breakfast.  

He could explain why he was being so gruff with his team; he was just in no mood to play fifty questions.  He was angrier with himself than anyone.  He had allowed himself to get emotionally involved with the pretty blonde office manager.  If only her quirky behavior had not been so endearing.  It would have been much easier to stay aloof if she had remained the cold and spiteful woman he had first met.  Of course, if he had kept his hands to himself, it would have made everything less complicated.

He growled at himself as he stepped under the spray of hot water and began washing.  He let the stream of water massage the tension from his neck and shoulders before quickly shampooing his hair.  Clean from head to toe, he felt refreshed and better able to cope with the coming day.

The bottom line was that he had screwed up.  He could not deny that, he told himself as he trimmed his beard and shaved the unwanted growth that shadowed his cheeks and underside of his chin.  Yes, he screwed up and there was no going back.  Did he even want to?  No, he wanted to go forward; he wanted to end this and tell Taylor the truth.

He had already decided to end the charade that he was playing.  He would not be setting foot back into Nelson Creswell Motors except as Agent Frank Donovan.  He was ready to chuck it all.  He had lost the mission.  Somehow the importance of it had paled greatly in comparison to keeping Taylor from being hurt.

He dressed in his familiar and achingly comfortable slacks and turtleneck and then left the bathroom in time to hear some unexpected, but welcome, news.

"Jake just reported in," Alex began, setting a plate of eggs and grits on the small table indicating he should sit and eat.

"What news have we?" he asked, waving her away and picking up a cup of coffee.  

"He overheard there will be a special delivery to Creswell's in two days," she answered.

"And Jake's been assigned to the hauler," Cody stated with a proud wink.

"Good job.  With any luck, we'll catch Creswell red handed.  The government can tear his books apart," he replied halfheartedly.  Even then, Taylor would have to be deposed to go over the books.  He could not shield her completely, nor could he prevent her from losing her job.  But, he could try to make it as easy on her as possible.

...to be continued


	9. Phone Calls

What is and What Should Never Be Chapter Nine – Phone Calls and Lunch Breaks 

"Very well, Ettore," Creswell released with just a hint of annoyance.  Normally quite capable of hiding his feelings, today he was finding it difficult to employ his usual tactics.  "Thank you for your consideration in calling to inform me of your decision.  Miss Taylor will be calculating the monthly commissions and payroll tomorrow and should have your final paycheck ready on Wednesday."  He waited long enough to hear the response at the other end of the phone line before pulling the receiver away from his ear and staring at it mutely.  Shrugging uselessly, he cradled the receiver as he shook his head.

Ettore Sansone had everything it took to be a top line salesperson.  He could easily have reached an earning potential well into six figures.  His explanation of sales just not being his ambition in life really didn't make sense to Creswell.  Wasn't money the ultimate ambition in life?  "So be it," he muttered tiredly.  He had other matters to attend to that were much more pressing than the life's ambition of a now former employee.

As he reached for the latest daily management report, his phone rang again.  This time it was his cell phone and not the office phone.  As he flipped the thin gadget open, he read the incoming number and felt the familiar dread wash over him.  He felt the beads of sweat break out on his upper lip and rubbed them away in complete frustration.  It went against everything in him to allow anyone or anything to instill such fear and foreboding in him.  Nelson Creswell was a man of self-confidence, pride, and determination.  He ran a hand through his silver-gray hair and released a disheartened sigh.  It was a sad tribute that all he had come to admire within himself could be quickly dispelled at the sight of a phone number.

"Yes?" he barked into the phone with more assurance than he felt.

"It is time, my friend."

Creswell's stomach rolled at the sound of the heavily accented Hispanic voice.  "I'm well aware of that."

"Then you should be ready to take delivery of the vehicles in two night's time."

"This will be the last of the vehicles I can accept from you," he spat hatefully.  "Your price is far too high."

"As will your payment be if you do not follow through with the negotiated contract," the man answered coolly.  "I do believe we have an understanding, yes?"

"This can't continue…"  
  
"It will continue as long as it is profitable for my business.  I will tell you when it is not…and you will receive that message in grave detail."

Creswell understood only too well the implication of that statement.  Again his stomach made its presence known as he felt the need to vomit assault his senses with a fierceness he had never experienced before.  "Very well.  In two night's time."

"Until then, my friend."

~*~

Frank hung up the phone after speaking to Creswell and immediately turned in the direction of Cody.  "Something bothering you?" he asked curtly upon hearing the frustrated sigh come from the young agent.

"Nothing that a huge aspirin won't cure," he snapped as he pushed away from the computer and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  "I've been through every hospital database in the vicinity of Savannah and nothing matches the parameter of your search request."

"Then keep looking," he insisted.  "And don't stop until you discover just who this Bubo really is."

Cody stood and walked over to the small refrigerator and pulled out a Mountain Dew.  "Sure thing, Boss," he groused humorlessly.  "And while I'm at it, I'll be sure to discover the location of Jimmy Hoffa's body."

"Just get it done, Forrester," Donovan growled as he moved to the window.  He stared through the glass with unseeing eyes.  His patience was wearing paper-thin as he waited for word from Jake as well as the information he had requested Cody to find.  Jake last reported that the vehicles that were to be delivered to Creswell had arrived at the docks.  Surveillance had been set up to closely watch the cars until they were loaded on the trailers for delivery to the dealership.  Suspicions were that the drugs were stowed in the vehicles, but there was no trace of them when the vehicles were inspected before leaving Italy.  Upon arrival into the United States K-9 officers specializing in drug detection also inspected them.  No drugs were ever found.

The sound of the phone ringing startled Donovan from his thoughts.  He nodded to Cody to put the call on speaker and issued a gruff acknowledgement.

"Hey, Donovan," Jake's voice poured into the room.  "Can't talk long…the gang will be back soon.  Nothing odd happening at the docks yet, but I'm expecting it to remain that way until late this evening."

"Check back in later," Donovan insisted firmly.  "The minute you see anything suspicious, check in."

"You got it."

The call ended as quickly as it began.  It seemed the majority of their time had been spent waiting and Donovan understood that it was a misfortune of the job.  Understanding and accepting were two different things.   He was restless and eager for this to be over.  He dreaded telling Taylor the truth about who he really was and what he was doing in her life.  He wasn't stupid enough to believe she would be happy with the lies and games, but he was hopeful that after her anger subsided, she would give him…them…a chance.

~*~

"You didn't have to do that," Taylor protested softly into the receiver.  Inwardly, she was happily surprised by the news that had just been shared with her.  

"Believe me," Frank drawled lazily.  "It is much easier this way."

"What will you do now?" she asked with a sudden sense of foreboding.  She remembered him saying he was traveling, not really settling in one place.  Would he pull up stakes and leave Savannah?  Of course, that made no sense if he quit his job as saleswhore so that he could be with her.  Leaving now would defeat the purpose of quitting.

"At the moment, I do not know," he replied truthfully.  "But I have several prospects lined up in the next two days."  _More lies_.  He ran a hand through his unruly long hair before reaching for the report Monica silently handed him.  "How's Bubo?" he asked concernedly in an attempt to distract himself from the lies he continued to bestow upon Taylor.

"Better.  His fever broke," she answered.  "And he's raring to be on his way.  I'm trying to keep him here for at least one more night."

Frank sighed.  Taylor trusted the homeless man implicitly; however, something beyond the obvious nagged at Donovan.  "I cannot help but feel you are taking a chance," he protested evenly, not wishing to anger her.  

"I'm not, Ettore," she insisted, cutting him off.  "I know Bubo; he's a good man."

"But do you really know him, Taylor?  Can you even tell me his real name?" 

There was a long pause before she finally answered a disheartened, "No."

"No.  I did not think so," he replied, troubled.  "If you insist on keeping him in your house, then I insist you call the diner and order lunch for three. I will pick it up within the hour."  
  
"Excuse me?" she asked, thrown off slightly by his commanding tone.

"You can be responsible for dinner later," he said half jokingly.  While he waited for anything to turn up from the surveillance or word from Jake, he would keep an eye on Taylor and her houseguest.

"Admit that it isn't just to baby sit me while Bubo is here," she prodded lightly.  

Frank chuckled.  "You see right through me."

"No.  But I can't wait _to_ see you," she whispered sensuously.  

Frank fairly melted at the sound of her voice.  "Call in the order, Taylor.  Soon the wait will be over for both of us."

~*~

True to his word, Frank stopped by the diner to pick up lunch.  Jeanie demanded a brief moment of his time, trying to determine what part he played in Taylor's life in order to be privy to her relationship with Bubo.  He shared what little he could, or what he felt he needed to, in order to appease her curiosity.  Under normal circumstances, he might be annoyed with her busybody interrogation, but in reality, he knew it was Jeanie's way of making sure Taylor was in no danger.  He could not begrudge Jeanie her desire to protect Taylor.  To be honest, it was good to know she had friends she could depend on.

"What took you so long?" Taylor teased as she accepted the containers of food.  

"Seems your friend Jeanie was checking me out a bit," he answered shamelessly.

Taylor laughed good-naturedly.  "Of course, it's all about _you_, Ettore."

Frank's laughter joined hers.  "How you hurt me, Taylor," he said with mock indignation.  "You assumed I thought she was interested in me sexually, when I meant she was trying to determine whether I am good enough for you."

Her eyes danced with amusement as she stretched up onto tiptoes to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.  "I meant nothing of the sort," she teased.  "Now come help me with this.  I hope Bubo has an appetite."

Following her to the kitchen, they placed the sandwiches and potato salad Jeanie sent onto plates for easier handling.  She also filled a bowl with the hot vegetable soup made especially for Bubo.  She then hurried up to Bubo's room to see if he was up to joining them in the kitchen or if he would rather have his meal in his room.

~*~

Shaking his head and sounding off a few whistles, Bubo expressed his desire not to join her and her guest for lunch.  Instead, Taylor brought his food to him.  He accepted it gratefully, eating every last bite.  Later, as the voices drifted up to him from the kitchen, he hurriedly dressed.  With his stomach full, his clothes cleaned, and his body warmed, he grabbed up the bottle of antibiotics on the nightstand and quietly left the house without either Taylor's or her friend's knowledge.  He would find a way to thank her for her kindness…later.

~*~

"We can go look for him if it will put you at ease, _cara_," Frank offered sincerely.  

Just after they had finished eating, Taylor had gone upstairs to check on Bubo and found him gone.  It was easy to tell how upset she was over his disappearance.

"No," she responded softly with a shake of her head.  "He would only leave again.  He has to handle things in his own way."

Frank nodded absently as he gathered her into his embrace.  "What can I do, Taylor?"

"You're doing it," she whispered softly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

...to be continued.


	10. Shakedown, Breakdown, Takedown

**What is and What Should Never Be**

**Chapter Ten --  Shakedown, Breakdown, Takedown.**

Donovan crouched down behind a stack of oil drums located at the rear of the Reconditioning garage.  The car carrier was due within thirty minutes.  His team, along with a full FBI SWAT team, was strategically placed around the dealership.  

"Check in," he commanded, speaking covertly into his ear mic.  He listened as each team member radioed their position and status before he spoke again.  "Cody?  The entrance?"

"Got it covered, Boss," Cody's voice spilled into his ear.  "Surveillance is set and I'm monitoring the entrance for activity."

Sighing inwardly, he steeled himself for the inevitable roar of the carrier's engine.  His eyes scanned the area all around him for any movement while his mind clamped down on the sudden wave of anxiety that rose from the pit of his stomach.

At the present, they knew several men waited inside the garage playing cards, killing time until the vehicles arrived.  Donovan did not recognize them as any of the dealership's regular mechanics or recon techs, although they wore Creswell's uniforms.  

Without realizing it, his thoughts turned to Taylor and the few hours he had managed to spend with her in the last day.  She was working crazy hours doing the month end accounting close, and he had made sure she had left for the evening before his team had arrived and taken up position.  It had been easy for Cody to hack into the security system so their arrival had been undetected and they entered by way of the back lot only after Taylor's departure.  

He realized that once this evening was over, he and the team would be returning to Chicago.  The time to tell Taylor the truth was fast approaching.  Once the case busted open, the Federal District Attorney would question her thoroughly.  Cody had done a methodical background check on her.  Nothing was out of line in regards to her finances.  On paper, she appeared to be clean.  In his heart he knew that was the truth.  Still, it would not stop the DA from interrogating her.  The only allowance he could get the DA to make was that he would be present for her interrogation.

He heard the faint noise from the loud engines in the distance.  The carrier was not far from the dealership.  He forced thoughts of Taylor from his mind and focused on the task at hand. 

~*~  

Yawning tiredly, Taylor rubbed her eyes and then reached for the cup of coffee that rested in the dashboard's drink holder.  After taking a sip, she started the engine and headed back to the dealership for what she hoped was the final round in her attempt to close the books for the month.  All she lacked was the payroll accrual posted and then the financial statements could be run and transmitted to the manufacturer.  

She silently thanked Devon for allowing her to use his car to return to the dealership that evening.  If she could finish the close, she was planning on taking a couple days off.  She could not remember a time when she was so exhausted.  Between work, Bubo's illness, and the recent activity with Ettore _[and what activity it was!]_, Taylor needed some down time.

~*~

"Hold your positions," Donovan commanded.  He watched the carrier pull up to the gates and one of the men jump down from the cab to punch in the security code to enter the complex.  Within moments they made their way to the back of the property and halted the carrier alongside the Recon building.  Four men exited the cab and made their way to the back of the carrier.  One of those men was Jake.

Seconds later, those men who had been waiting within the building hurried to the carrier to help unload the vehicles.  Not long after that did the Feds discover just how the drugs had been smuggled within or on the cars.  

After driving them into the Recon bays, air wrenches were pulled out and the tires removed.  Long, thick magnetic strips were removed from the wheel wells before new tires were reattached.  The wheels that were removed, along with the ominous magnetic strips, were loaded onto a large hauler. This process was repeated with the cars' batteries and headrests and the removed items were loaded onto the hauler as well.  

"Sneaky," Cody commented through the receiver.  

"Very.  Contact HQ," Donovan spoke softly.  "The drugs contained in the parts removed were on these cars when they arrived at the docks.  Someone's on the take."

"Relaying message now," Cody confirmed.  "Tell me I am not seeing this!"

"What is it?"

"A dark sedan has pulled up to the gate.  Whoever it is is punching in a security code now…"  Cody paused as the code displayed on his monitor.  "It's Taylor's access code."

"Damn it," Donovan cursed under his breath.  

"Should I send someone…she's headed into the main building."

"To her office.  She'll be fine there as long as she doesn't get curious.  Keep an eye on her, Cody.  Alert me if she moves."

"Yes, sir."

~*~

Unaware of the activity taking place across the lot, Taylor made her way to her office and dived into the remainder of the work she had.  If all went smoothly, she figured to be finished within a couple hours.  

She couldn't say how long she had been buried in figures when noises from outside drew her attention to the security monitors.  She flipped through the various cameras until one scene caught her eye; activity in the Recon department long after the close of the dealership.  She pressed on the zoom button and focused the camera on two men who had just exited two separate cars and moved toward each other.  She didn't recognize the Hispanic man, but was more than certain the other was Nelson Creswell.  _What's happening out there?_  Without giving thought to the danger, Taylor slipped out of the building through the back entrance.

~*~

"Creswell has arrived…followed by… Joaquin Portocarrero," Cody announced as both men exited their vehicles.  The database brought up pertinent information on Portocarrero instantaneously.  "Diplomat from Spain...he's on the DEA watch list, but to this point, nothing has been connected to him."

"His diplomatic credentials will be useless when we're through with him," Donovan spat.  He shifted his position and readied to give the order to move in.

~*~

Creswell stopped a few feet away from Portocarrero.  As much as he wanted to end this, he knew the man who stood in front of him could destroy his life.  Much more than his own life, he would take the life of his only daughter.  Specifically, his daughter, Cecilia, who had mistakenly fallen prey to the charms of Portocarrero.  

Since Creswell no longer had a say in his daughter's life, he walked a precarious line with her husband.  Portocarrero used Cecilia as a pawn in a dirty game of chess.  Creswell only had to say "No" once to Portocarrero to find out that his threats against Cecilia were real.  That one time had caused his daughter to wind up in the hospital, beaten within an inch of her life.  Portocarrero had staged it to look like a mugging gone bad, but had made sure Creswell knew who was behind it.  Participate in the drug trafficking, or bury his daughter.  Those were his choices.  In reality, he had no choice.

"Is everything in order?" Creswell asked with little emotion.  The sooner they were off his property, the sooner he could get on with his life…until the next call.  

Portocarrero turned and spoke to the man standing next to him.  With a nod, he turned his attention to Creswell.  "Everything is going according to plan, dear Father-in-law."

"How long until you and these men are out of my sight?"

"Not long.  Have patience," Portocarrero sneered.

Before Creswell could respond, he heard a shout from behind him.  Turning, he saw Taylor running toward him.  "Jesus, no."

~*~

If keeping a low profile were not a priority, Donovan would have shouted loud enough to send Cody through the roof of the surveillance van.  "You were supposed to be watching her," he bit out in a low voice.

"She must have slipped out while I was watching Creswell and Portocarrero's arrival," Cody explained worriedly.

"It's your call, Donovan," Alex's voice was heard through the receiver.

"Move in!" he growled, jumping up from his hiding place.  Dozens of Federal agents swarmed the area, moving in on the unsuspecting criminals.

~*~

Portocarrero drew his gun with lightning reflex.  His aim was just as quick and centered on Taylor who stopped just short of Creswell.

"No!" Creswell shouted.  "She's just an employee…she's not a threat."

"Mister Creswell," Taylor stammered, visibly shaken by the sight of the gun.  "What…"

"She is a threat _now_, you idiot," Portocarrero shouted angrily.  

"Federal agents! Drop your weapons!  Face down on the ground!"

Portocarrero drew a second gun, aiming it in the direction of the voice.  His gaze, however, did not waver from the female that had unexpectedly arrived.  She would be his ticket out.  "Come here, bitch."

Taylor had been frozen to the spot, her eyes moving from the man who held the gun to Nelson. She felt as though she were trapped in a nightmare and prayed for someone to wake her up.  And when she heard a deep, commanding voice call out "Federal agents" she thought she had been mistaken to whom it belonged.  But why would Ettore be…

"Don't move…anyone," Donovan ordered.  Agents blanketed the area, apprehending those that had already surrendered.  Donovan was joined by Alex and then Jake.  Each of their weapons trained on Portocarrero.

"You've got nowhere to go.  Give it up," Donovan demanded, inching forward slightly.  

Portocarrero firmed his grip on both guns.  "Take one more step and she's dead."  Again he motioned to Taylor.  "I told you to come to me.  Don't make me ask again."

"Don't move!" Donovan yelled.  When Taylor's gaze finally moved from Portocarrero to him, he could literally feel her surprise at seeing him.  Her eyes widened with the added shock and she reflexively took a step toward him.

"Drop your weapon, Portocarrero!" Donovan again demanded.  "There's nowhere to go."

Portocarrero stepped toward the woman, his intention clear.  The sound of many guns cocking reached his ears and his steps halted.  "You may shoot me, but at least one innocent will go with me," he boasted.  "Do you want that on your conscience?"

"Ettore," Creswell spat.  He recognized the agent immediately.  "Back off.  If anything happens to him, he'll kill my daughter."

"He'll be in no position…"

"Enough!" Portocarrero screamed.  His patience was lost along with his sanity.  Even if he could get to the woman, there was no way the agents would let him leave alive.  A distraction may give him the chance to escape.  The woman would serve a purpose after all.

Donovan made out the subtle movement of Portocarrero's finger squeezing the trigger.  His aim was dead on to shoot Taylor between the eyes.  His hesitation was non existent, but it was still too late.  He heard the simultaneous report of two guns...the sound echoing in the stillness of the night air.

...to be continued.


	11. Stigmatized

**What is and What Should Never Be**

**Chapter Eleven – Stigmatized.**

Although Donovan heard the gunshots, he did not catch the frantic whistle that sounded right along with them.  Even as he ran toward Taylor, he watched in complete disbelief as a figure raced from the nearby shadows and launched himself at her.  Whoever it was hit the ground hard right along with her.  

Two agents grabbed Creswell when he made a move to go to Taylor.  He was cuffed and pushed down to his knees.  Alex and Jake approached Portocarrero.  After kicking his guns away, they knelt beside him.  Jake placed two fingers to Portocarrero's carotid and shook his head.  The man was dead; Donovan's bullet had entered the man's temple.

While Jake and Alex checked Portocarrero, Donovan quickly made his way to Taylor.  His relief in seeing her movement was astronomical.  She was already up on her knees, reaching for the man who had pushed her out of the way.  

"Oh, God! No!" Taylor screamed and cradled his head in her lap.  "Please don't leave me," she begged.  She took his hand, squeezing it hard.  

"Taylor, are you all right," Frank asked worriedly.  He placed a gentle hand to her cheek causing her to look up at him.

"I…I…it's Bubo, Ettore…" Her voice faltered and her attention turned back to the man who looked up at her adoringly through his pain.  "Hold on, please hold on."

Donovan took in the sight of the blood pooling around the fallen man.  The wound was near his heart.  Even if EMT's could reach them within seconds, the man would not survive.  "Taylor, I'm sorry…"

"No, no! He will not die!" she screamed.  Gently caressing Bubo's cheek, she leaned down and kissed his forehead.  "You won't leave me, you won't!"

With the last of his strength, Bubo reached up and touched her cheek with a bloody finger.  "Don't…give up," he managed to speak through his pain.  

Startled by Bubo speaking, Donovan stared mutely at him.  Taylor's sobs tore his heart to pieces.

"Promise…promise me, baby," Bubo continued wearily.  "Promise me…you will live…your life.  No more hiding."

"I…I promise," she sobbed.  

"I love you, baby," he confessed with his last breath.  Bubo's eyes closed for all eternity.

"I love you, too…Daddy."  

Taylor rocked him gently in the cradle of her arms.  If Bubo's speaking had stunned Donovan, the truth of his identity struck him dumb.  He reached out to caress the back of Taylor's lowered head when her arm came up suddenly and batted him away.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed.  Her eyes filled with an uncontrollable rage when she looked into his.  "I don't even know who you are!"

"Taylor…you _do_ know me.  The only thing you don't know is my real name," Frank began, but was cut off by the determined shake of her head.

"I don't rightly care what your damn name is."  She waved an arm at the circus of Federal Agents and the law enforcement vehicles that had begun to arrive to haul off the criminals.  "All this…all that _you_ caused…has cost me the only family I had left!"

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Get away from me," Taylor spat.  "Whoever you are!  Get away!  I never…_never_ want to see your face again!"

~*~

It wasn't to be for Taylor.  Not only did she see him again, she saw him many times in the hours after that fateful moment in her life.  She found herself waiting outside an interview room at the Federal building in Savannah.  _He_ was in there.  _He,_ who was the cause of all her pain.  Her father had given his life to save hers, but why?  Why had he needed to?  Because the man who had called himself Ettore Sansone had not been honest with her.  If he could have done that, if he _would_ have done that, Taylor would not have been at the dealership that night.  If she had known the truth, Bubo would not have followed her there to keep watch on her.  He would have had no reason to throw himself in the path of that bullet.  He would not be dead and her life would not be empty.

The door to the office opened and someone stepped into the hall and stood before her.  She didn't have to look up to see who it was.  His distinctive aftershave and masculine scent told her long before it was _him_.  Sadly, she hated herself for wanting to jump up and throw herself into his arms.  She wanted the comfort and warmth of his embrace.  But the awful truth was that she didn't even know this man.  Although she now knew his name…Agent Frank Donovan.

"They're waiting for you, Taylor," he said quietly.

Taylor nodded and pushed up to her feet.  "Let's get this over with."  When he took her by the elbow she froze and looked down at his hand.  "I can walk without your help."  Her steely gaze fixed steadily onto his handsome face.  "I can do everything without your help.  Don't follow me into that room."

"Taylor, I can…"  

"Help.  Yes, I know.  You've repeated that mantra now for hours.  There's something you need to understand.  Just two little words.  I know a man of your stature and intelligence can grasp them easily."

Frank waited patiently as she went through her tirade.  If he could get her alone, away from all that was going on, perhaps he could convince her to give him another chance.

"Go…away," she finished and ripped her arm from his light grasp.  

"Taylor…"  The hall was empty save the two of them, but he could have cared less if the entire department surrounded them.  "Don't throw away what we've become to each other."

"What _we've_ become to each other?" she asked incredulously.  "I don't even _know_ you.  You fed me one lie after another.  You knew I was falling in love with you…Ettore…"  She shook her head in a vain attempt to dislodge her confusion.  "It doesn't matter now."  
  
"It does matter," he insisted.  He would do whatever it took to gain a second chance.  Anything.  If she would just…

"No.  It's over.  It ended the moment you made love to me and allowed me to cry out another man's name."  The icy cold tone of her voice surprised even her, although she couldn't understand why she was surprised.  The dead thump of her broken heart was all the reason she needed to push him away.

"I wanted to tell you…"

"But you didn't.  You made your choice."  She lifted her chin and turned away from him.  "Forget I exist, Agent Donovan," she said, looking over her shoulder.  "Because I damn well intend on forgetting your existence."

Sighing heavily, Donovan watched as she entered the room and the door closed behind her.  He could follow and sit in on the interview, but feared that would only incite her anger further.  That cold hard look in her eyes was brought on by grief, but Donovan knew the anger behind it was directed solely at him.  He realized she was too upset to care that his intentions had never been to hurt her; that she only knew his presence in her life had resulted in the death of her father.  And she had most likely made up her mind to hold him responsible and never forgive him.

~*~

The flight back to Chicago was endless in Donovan's mind.  His head throbbed with a headache that had gotten out of control.  He reached up and stabbed at the Flight Attendant's call button and asked for several aspirin and a bourbon chaser when she reached his side.  

They had spent the last two weeks tying up loose ends.  The accomplice that ran the K-9 inspection unit at the docks had been discovered.  The officer in question had been paid handsomely to tamper with the canine's sense of smell just before each inspection.

Creswell had revealed that the drugs had been hidden on the vehicles while aboard the cargo ship.  Said shipping line's assets had been frozen and the owner had been arrested, along with several employees.  Creswell cut a deal for the information he disclosed, but he would still spend several lifetimes in jail.  

Taylor had gone through countless hours of questions until the Federal Attorneys had released her declaring she had taken no part in the dirty dealings of Portocarrero and Creswell.  Donovan had seen the video transcripts of the "interviews" and at certain points the investigators had been rough on Taylor.  That had pissed him off more than just a little.  He even managed to squeeze in a personal visit to said investigator and gave him a little taste of his own medicine.

"You doing okay, Donovan?" Monica asked, settling in the seat next to him.  She had been sitting two seats behind him and decided he needed a little company.

Donovan gave her a sidelong glance.  "I'm perfectly fine."

"Um-hmm.  Of course you are."  She opened the file folder she'd been holding.  "I'm sure Cody has shared this with you.  It's remarkable all that Taylor had gone through.  It seems she told you mostly the truth about Bubo.  He had lost his entire family in that crash with the exception of his daughter."

Donovan nodded.  He had read the report from cover to cover.  The reason Cody had not been able to track down Bubo's…Gary Kinney's hospital records, was that nearly five years prior the hospital had changed computer systems and many of the patient's records had been lost or dated improperly.  They were slowly straightening out the mess, but it was taking much longer than expected.  Since learning of his connection to Taylor, they were able to look it up based on her name.

"I read the report, Monica," he answered without emotion.  He was in no mood to discuss Taylor with Monica, or anyone else for that matter. 

"She lost a lot, Donovan.  Essentially even her Father.  He shut out the world, never completely regaining what he had lost.  Inherently there was still the father-daughter bond between them, but his willingness to live in the real world was lost in that car wreck."  Monica prattled on knowing he didn't want to talk.  She also knew withdrawing into a shell wouldn't bring him to terms with what he lost.  

"Look, Monica.  I know what she lost back then and I know what she lost the night her father was killed," he growled angrily.  "I also know that I am ultimately to blame for his death."

"You know that's not true."

"Over and over again, I lied to her.  I should feel no remorse for that because it was part of the job?" he questioned disbelievingly.  At Monica's knowing look he sighed and rested his head back against the seat.  "I screwed up and got personally involved.  I've never met anyone like her, Monica.  But that really doesn't make any difference now."

"Time can make all the difference in the world, Donovan," she replied quietly.  She gently patted his arm and then returned to her seat, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Donovan stared into the caramel liquid that lined the bottom of his glass.  He signaled the Flight Attendant.  Just one more glass of bourbon to chase away the memories.  He nearly laughed when instead of relief he found himself reliving the scene that took place just before their flight departed Savannah.

_"She's not here, Agent," Devon informed him with a hint of malice in his voice.  He immediately turned his back on Donovan and walked over to the sound system and flicked a switch._

_'If I give up on you I give up on me  
If we fight what's true, will we ever be  
Even if God himself and the faith I knew  
Shouldn't hold me back, shouldn't keep me from you'___

_Donovan wasn't surprised that Taylor's friend was less than elated to see him.  It was a couple hours before the club opened, but he had hoped someone that worked there might know where to find her.  It was a little more than a week after her father's death, but the house was closed up and a 'For Sale' sign was out front.  Cody hadn't been able to find anything on her whereabouts.  His only hope at this point was her friends._

_'Tease me, by holding out your hand  
Then leave me, or take me as I am  
And live our lives, stigmatized'_

_"I need to see her," Donovan replied, mindful of how desperate he had to sound to Devon.  Who was he kidding?  He was desperate to see her.  _

_'I can feel the blood rushing through my veins  
When I hear your voice, driving me insane  
Hour after hour day after day  
Every lonely night that I sit and pray'_

_"She's gone.  Face it, you screwed up.  You used her; you lost her."  Devon slapped the bar and slid up on the stool.  "Just for the record, you're the biggest fool I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."_

_'Tease me, by holding out your hand  
Then leave me, or take me as I am  
And live our lives, stigmatized'_

_Donovan wasn't about to argue with him.  He had gotten a snoot full from Jeanie earlier.  Jeanie was as tightlipped as Devon was being.  It was obvious he wouldn't find out anything from her friends._

_'We live our lives on different sides,  
But we keep together you and I  
Just live our lives, stigmatized_

_We'll live our lives, we'll take the punches every day  
We'll live our lives I know we're gonna find our way'_

_"If you see her," Donovan said, sliding his card over to Devon.  "Ask her to call me."_

_"Not a chance."_

_'I believe in you  
Even if no one understands_

_I believe in you, and I don't really give a damn  
If we're stigmatized  
We live our lives on different sides  
But we keep together you and I  
We live our lives on different sides'_

_Donovan nodded, but left the card anyway.  With his tail tucked firmly between his legs, he left the club and hours later, he left Savannah._

_'We're gonna live our lives  
Gotta live our lives  
We're gonna live our lives  
We're gonna live our lives, Gonna live our lives, Stigmatized'_

~*~

_At the club, just moments after Donovan's departure._

"You gonna call him, sweetpea?" Devon asked curiously when Taylor entered the bar from the back room she had been hiding in.  

"Call who?" Taylor questioned. 

"Don't be coy, babe.  You heard every word he said."

Nodding, Taylor stepped behind the bar.  "Seems strange on this side of the bar," she joked halfheartedly.  

"I'm sure it does.  Just as it must seem odd to be the new owner," Devon reasoned.

"It does."  Her father may have seemed to have lost his faculties after the accident, but he was more savvy than anyone had given him credit for.  Among his meager possessions at the warehouse, a few stocks worth a pretty penny had been found in his name.  Also among his papers was his life insurance policy, which had included a double indemnity clause.  Gary Kinney had made sure his little girl would be taken care of if he could not be around to do it himself.  

Taylor wiped away the tears that threatened.  "So…"

"You didn't answer my question," Devon prodded as he pushed Donovan's card toward her.

"I most certainly did.  I don't know that man; I have no desire to _get to know_ him either."  She picked up the card and dropped it in the wastebasket.  

"Taylor…"  
  
"Please, Dev…let's not go there," she pleaded softly.  

Devon nodded.  "Not another word.  Besides, I need to check on that liquor shipment."

"Good idea," she agreed, chuckling.  

Moments after Devon left the room, Taylor looked down.  A box of personal items she would carry up to her new home above the club caught her eye.  It sat next to the wastebasket. She could not help but focus on the business card that lay on the bottom; the wastebasket was empty except for that. Slowly she bent and removed it, staring at it as though in a trance. _What is and what should never be._

The card slipped through her fingers and fluttered back down.....

~finis~****

Stigmatized from the 2001 CD titled Camino Palmero by The Calling.  All rights reserved.


End file.
